She was looking at him intently. He closed the door, and dropped back into the chair. He crossed his legs nervously, then uncrossed them, wiped his face again with the scented handkerchief, and finally stuck his big hands into his big pockets to get rid of them. He was dressed in half cowboy garb, and it began to dawn on him that he was “cutting a pretty figure,” sitting there with that fortune teller. “I suppose you’d like to have your fortune told?” she questioned. “I dunno 'bout that!” he protested, his big hands burrowing deep into his pockets. “I seen a feller come from this way, and I kinder p’inted my toes in the same direction. Mebbe you was tellin’ his fortune?” “No one has been here for more than an hour.” “Then I reckon I was mistook. Do you make up these here fortunes out of your own head, or how?” “I tell whatever is to be told.” “Fer coin?” “Yes, for coin. Even a fortune teller must live. Put five dollars on that tray beside you and I will begin.” “If you can tag me, I’ll make it ten!” Harkness put a crisp five dollar bill on the tray. If she had said ten he would have placed that there. Liquor made him generous. “You do not believe in fortunes?” “Not any, lady. I stumbled into this game, and I’m simply playin’ it fer the fun of it, same’s I used to go into a game of cards with Ben Davison, when I knowed good and well he’d skin me. I’m goin’ up ag’inst your game, lady, and payin’ before the game begins. It’s cut out fer me to lose, but I’ll double the bet and lose it willin’ if you can put your finger on me an’ tell me whatever about myself. I don’t reckon you can do it.” A low laugh of amusement came from behind the veil. “You might as well put down the other five dollars now, to save you the trouble of doing it later.” Then she leaned forward and stared at him so intently that he felt almost nervous. There was something uncanny in that rigid stare, and in the strained tones of her voice, when she spoke after prolonged silence. He fancied he could see her glowing eyes through the mesh of the veil. “Your last name begins with an H. Let me see! It is something like Hearing. No, it can’t be that! It’s Hark—Hark—Harkening. No, that can’t be. I can’t get it; but I didn’t promise to tell names. There are a great many cattle where you live. Yes, and you are married. That’s strange, for not many cowboys are married. You have a little girl.” She put her hand to her head, and was silent a moment. “That’s very queer. The name of your little girl, her first name, begins with an H.” She uttered a little inarticulate cry. “And, oh, dear, she seems to be surrounded by fire; flames are on all sides of her, and smoke! And she is frightened.” Harkness started from his chair. “She ain’t in any fire now?” The woman dropped back with a sigh.