“Don’t I dance good enough, Harry?” He had evidently been bracing himself for a straight-from-the-shoulder retort. At this gentle question he gasped and rose with a look of brotherly concern. “Jac, if you was a man I’d say you’d been hittin’ the red-eye too much.” “Oh,” said Jac. Harry touched her under the chin and tilted back her head. The deep-blue eyes stared miserably up to him. “What’s the matter with her, pa?” he asked. “Plain foolishness!” said the latter. Jac struck the hand from her chin and leaped from the table to her feet. “Harry,” she said, “if I was a man I’d hang a bunch of fives on your chin!” The chuckle of the stranger made her whirl. “Get out, Whiskers,” she commanded, “or I’ll pull a gun an’ give you a free shave.” The man rose obediently and went from the room to the porch. Harry followed him out and swung into the saddle of his horse. His father delayed an instant. “Now cut out this talk of goin’ to the dance,” said Jim During. “You stay right here, an’ if any of the boys come in late fix them up some chow. I got to slide over to see old Jones on some--some business.” “Sure you do,” said Jac scornfully. “I know that kind of business. It comes five in a hand and you draw to it.” The hair of her father seemed to take on a deeper tinge of red. “Well?” he said. “Well?” she replied no less angrily. “If I couldn’t play no better hand of poker than you do, I’d go no farther than solitaire, believe me.” “Jacqueline!” “Don’t swear at me!” said Jac. “If you think I ain’t right, just sit down and play a hand with me.” Her father was so swelled with wrath that he could make no rejoinder. At length he whirled on his heel and strode toward the door, pulling his sombrero down over his eyes. At the door he turned back and pointed a long, angry arm. “An’ if I catch you leavin’ this place to-night--” he began. “Well?” His face altered and the anger faded from his eyes. “Jac,” he said gently, “why in hell wasn’t you born a boy?” He went on out and a moment later his horse clattered down the road. “Why?” repeated Jac. CHAPTER II. LAND. She went out to the porch and stared after the disappearing horseman. When he had quite vanished in the rapidly fading light of the evening she turned back. She stopped. The stranger sat on the edge of the porch whittling a stick. His black hair bushed out under the brim of his sombrero, and for some reason it stirred the latent wrath in Jac. She went to him and stood with arms akimbo, staring down. “Too bad,” he said, but did not look up. “What’s too bad?” “The red hair.” It was a long moment before she spoke. “Huh!” she said. “If I was to talk about _your_ hair you’d think I was discussin’ a record crop of hay. If I was to--” She stopped, for the twinkling eyes were smiling up to her. “I look like the land of much rain, all right,” said the stranger.