overlook critical exactions natural to her breeding. She kept
silence, and she imagined it was just as well that her veil hid
her face at the moment. She had been prepared to find cowboys
rather striking, and she had been warned not to laugh at them.

This gentleman of the range deliberately reached down and took up
her left hand. Before she recovered from her start of amaze he
had stripped off her glove.

"Fine spark, but no wedding-ring," he drawled. "Lady, I'm glad
to see you're not married."

He released her hand and returned the glove.

"You see, the only ho-tel in this here town is against boarding
married women."

"Indeed?" said Madeline, trying to adjust her wits to the
situation.

"It sure is," he went on. "Bad business for ho-tels to have
married women. Keeps the boys away. You see, this isn't Reno."

Then he laughed rather boyishly, and from that, and the way he
slouched on his sombrero, Madeline realized he was half drunk.
As she instinctively recoiled she not only gave him a keener
glance, but stepped into a position where a better light shone on
his face. It was like red bronze, bold, raw, sharp. He laughed
again, as if good-naturedly amused with himself, and the laugh
scarcely changed the hard set of his features. Like that of all