This young woman by the fireplace had just that panther-air of perilous quietness. She was very haggard, very thin; she wore her massive, black hair drawn away hideously from brow and temple, and out of this lean, unshaded face a pair of deep eyes looked drowsily, dangerously. Her mouth was straightened into an expression of proud bitterness, her round chin thrust forward; there was a deep, scowling line that rose from the bridge of her straight, short nose almost to the roots of her hair. It cut across a splendidly modeled brow. She was very graceful, if such a bundle of bones might be said to have any grace. Her pose was arresting. There was a tragic force and attraction about her. The man by the door appraised her carefully between his narrowed lids. He kept in mind the remembered melody of her voice, and, after a few moments, he strolled across the floor and came up to her. "Will you dance?" he said. He had a very charming and subtle smile, a very charming and sympathetic look. The woman was startled, color rose into her face. She stared at him. "I'm not dancing, Mr. Morena," she answered. "You know my name," smiled Morena; "and I don't know yours. I've been on Mr. Yarnall's ranch for a month. Why haven't I seen you?" "Fer not lookin', I suppose." She had given him that one startled glance, and now she had turned her eyes back to the dancers and wore a grim, contemptuous air. Her speeches, though they were cut into short, crisp words, were full of music of a sharp, metallic quality different from the tone of her other speech, but quite as beautifully expressive. "May I smoke?" asked Morena. He was still smiling his charming smile and watching her out of the corners of his eyes. "I'm not hinderin' you any," said she. Morena smiled deeper. He took some time making and lighting his cigarette. "You don't smoke, yourself?" he asked. "No." "Nor dance?" "No." "Nor behave prettily to polite young men?" Again the woman looked at him. "You ain't so awful young, are you?" He laughed aloud. "I amuse you, don't I? Well, I'm not always so all-fired funny," drawled the creature, lowering her head a little. "No. I've heard that you're not. You rather run things here, I gather; got the boys 'plumb-scared'?" "Did Mr. Yarnall tell you that?" "Yes. I've just in the last few minutes remembered who you are. You're Jane. You cook for the 'outfit,' and Yarnall was telling us the other night how he sent one of the boys out for a cook, the last one, a man, having been beaten up, and how the boy had brought you back behind him on his saddle. He said you'd kept order for him ever since, were better than a foreman. Who was the man you threw out to-night?" "Perhaps," drawled Jane, "he was just a feller who asked too many questions?"