She appeared undistressed by the prospect, but it was the apathy of countless failures and physical exhaustion. "No," he said with decision. "You're a heap too pretty for that." "You think so?" she asked indifferently. "You bet I do." It was Lafe Johnson who was talking now, and not the sheriff of Badger. They were alone in the parlor. He watched her for a moment. Her profile was turned to him and her attitude was one of tired acquiescence with the stress of her situation. He hitched his chair forward close to hers. "Say," he said, lowering his voice, "you forget this here Harris and all that, and throw in with me. I'll treat you good." "How--throw in with you?" "Why, you know. I'll take you over to a li'l' place I've got beyond the Willows. It's right pretty. We'll--" "I wonder," said Miss Ferrier, without a trace of resentment, "I wonder if there's more than one man on earth who isn't a brute?" "I don't take you, ma'am." "What difference is there between you and the others? How're you better than this fellow you ran off--this Jackson?" she demanded, with her first display of animation. "You've got nothing on him." "Say, you quit that. Quit that right now. I don't make my living--" "And neither do I, Mr. Johnson. So put that in your pipe and smoke it." She jumped to her feet and went out before he could prevent her. Johnson heard the bolt of her room jerked into place, and then he went downstairs, whistling a casual air. The barkeeper brought a tried judgment to bear on these symptoms and furtively closed one eye at the proprietor. "Humph," said Lafe, when he was outside and walking toward the cattle company's corral. "She can give any woman I ever done met up with, cards and spades at a bluff." Yet he was seized of qualms. It was the first time in his tenure of office that the man had triumphed over the official in any respect whatsoever. He had done his work with a single eye to duty, and without prejudice; and he had done it well. Nor was he given to pursuit of this nature. The girl made a tremendous physical appeal to him, and of course all that about the assistant manager and those other fellows was pure fiction. Lafe knew women of her stamp better than that. He was low in spirits all afternoon, and about sunset invaded the bar of the Cowboys' Rest. "I'm going to get pickled," he announced, "not real drunk, you understand. Nothing vulgar, but just nice and quiet. Here's my gun. I reckon Badger'll run itself for a day or two." "It's sure a-coming to you, Lafe," said the landlord. "You've been sober for a right smart spell." In the morning he felt very rocky, for the refreshment they provide in Badger would stagger the oldest man in the world; and he could hear bands playing in unlooked-for places. So he gave over in disgust all thought of further carnival and went to the Fashion for breakfast, knowing of old that a hearty meal would set him right.