War Paint By Robert Winchester Illustrated by Ralph Frederick A right diverting tale of sudden love and battle down on the Texas border, by the competent writing-man who gave us “My Deputy” and “No Flyer Ever Lost.” The two lean-bodied Texas rangers stood on the sidewalk of Wirton’s main street, their thin, bronzed, grave young faces immobile, watching the girl who had pulled up to the curb in a long high-powered roadster that carried a New York license. “Doggone,” said Sam Earp, plaintively, “I sure wish Ma was along so’s she could see it. Ma’s been reading herself a lot about these new kind of girls, and she don’t believe it a-tall. Hot damn, boy! Look at her puttin’ her war paint on. Reckon she’s goin’ to hold up the bank, Bud?” Bud Yancey grinned. “She’s a right pretty girl even if she does--my gosh, Sam, maybe-so she heard us?” The girl calmly powdered a very pretty straight little nose, touched her red hair with a dainty hand in one or two places, looked at the general result in a little mirror, took out a lipstick, worked on her lips for a moment, looked again in the mirror--then snapped her compact shut, got out of the car and walked directly up to the two young rangers. She wasn’t more than nineteen, and her graceful, exquisitely proportioned slim body, in its silken sheath, was the very heart of youth. Her eyes, dark gray-blue, surveyed the luckless pair, starting at their feet and slowly rising until they reached the eyes of the now much embarrassed Messieurs Yancey and Earp. They lingered on the heavy cartridge-belts, from which hung the holstered revolvers, then once more came level with theirs, and she asked, sweetly: “When does the rest of the circus come to town?” They both knew then that there could be no further doubt as to whether she had heard them or not. She had--and was going to give battle. “Well suh,” grinned Sam Earp, “it aint plumb certain just what time the rest of the outfit does get in, is it, Bud?” Now that active hostilities had started, they both felt better. “That’s right, it isn’t,” agreed Bud. “You see,” he went on gravely, his keen young black eyes, with the tiny wrinkles at the corners already forming from gazing over the hot shimmering desert, intent on hers, “there was a right bad accident happened to the lion over yonder in Laredo, and it might delay them. Were you waitin’ to see the show?” “Yes suh,” said Sam Earp, “I don’t figure that lion will ever be the same again, will he, Bud?” The girl’s beautiful eyes had widened quite a little when they so readily took up the circus gibe, which she had meant as a double-barreled insult, in payment for the words: “I wish Ma was along to see it.” “Why--I don’t believe there is a circus at all,” she said, “and--” “What?” interrupted Bud sorrowfully. “Doggone, Sam, this here girl doesn’t believe there is a circus! Don’t you believe in Santa Claus, either?” he asked anxiously.