"We'll try fer to show yeh a good time, mom. They'll be some right
lively fiddlin', an' she don't bust up till daylight."

With a smile the girl glanced toward the other rider who sat with an
air of tolerant amusement. She recognized him as the man called
Tex--the one who had so deftly dropped his loop over the shoulders of
the Mayor, and noted that, in comparison with the other, he presented
rather a sorry appearance. The heels of his boots were slightly run
over. His spurs were of dingy steel and his leather chaps, laced up
the sides with rawhide thongs looked as though they had seen much
service. The scarf at his throat, however, was as vivid as his
companion's and something in the flash of the grey eyes that looked
into hers from beneath the broad brim of the Stetson caused an
inexplicable feeling of discomfort. Their gaze held a suspicion of
veiled mockery, and the clean cut lips twisted at their comers into the
semblance of a cynical, smiling sneer.

"I want to thank you, too," she smiled, "it wasn't your fault your
friend----"

"Jack Purdy's my name, mom," interrupted the other, importantly.

"--that Mr. Purdy beat you, I am sure. And are you always as accurate
as when you lassoed the honourable Mayor of Wolf River?"

"I always get what I go after--sometimes," answered the man meeting her
gaze with a flash of the baffling grey eyes. A subtle something, in
look or words, seemed a challenge. Instinctively she realized that
despite his rough exterior here was a man infinitely less crude than