"No," Smith replied with some irony; "I'm not like that there Tubbs." He added laconically, "I'm no angel, me--Smith." The Schoolmarm laughed. Smith's denial was so obviously superfluous. "There was a time when I'd do 'most any old thing," he went on, unmindful of her amusement. "It was only a few years ago that there was no law north of Cheyenne, and a feller got what he wanted with his gun. I got my share. I come from a country where they sleep between sheets, but I got a lickin' that wasn't comin' to me, and I quit the flat when I was thirteen. I've been out amongst 'em since." The desire to reform somebody, which lies dormant in every woman's bosom, began to stir in the Schoolmarm's. "But you--you wouldn't 'do any old thing' now, would you?" Smith hesitated, and a variety of expressions succeeded one another upon his face. It was an awkward moment, for, under the uplifting influence of the feeling which possessed him, he had an odd desire to tell this girl only the truth. "I wouldn't do some of the things I used to do," he replied evasively. The Schoolmarm beamed encouragement. "I'm glad of that." "I used to kill Injuns for fifty dollars a head, but I wouldn't do it now," he said virtuously, adding: "I'd get my neck stretched." "You've killed people--Indians--for money!" The Schoolmarm looked at him, wide-eyed with horror. "They was clutterin' up the range," Smith explained patiently, "and the cattlemen needed it for their stock. I'd 'a' killed 'em for nothin', but when 'twas offered, I might as well get the bounty." The Schoolmarm scarcely knew what to say; his explanation seemed so entirely satisfactory to himself. "I'm glad those dreadful days have gone." "They're gone all right," Smith answered sourly. "They make dum near as much fuss over an Injun as a white man now, and what with jumpin' up deputies at every turn in the road, 'tain't safe. Why, I heard a judge say a while back that killin' an Injun was pure murder." "I appreciate your confidence--your telling me of your life," said the Schoolmarm, in lieu of something better. She found him a difficult person with whom to converse. They seemed to have no common meeting-ground, yet, while he constantly startled and shocked, he also fascinated her. In one of those illuminating flashes to which the Schoolmarm was subject, she saw herself as Smith's guiding-star, leading him to the triumphant finish of the career which she believed his unique but strong personality made possible. It was Smith's turn to look at her. Did she think he had told her of his life? The unexpected dimple deepened in Smith's cheek, and as he laughed the Schoolmarm, again noting the effect of it, could not in her heart believe that he was as black as he had painted himself.