"Did y'u go with them?"

"Go with them? Reckon you mean keep company. Why, yes, I guess I
did--a little," laughed Jean. "Sometimes on a Sunday or a dance once
in a blue moon, an' occasionally a ride. "

"Shore that accounts," said the girl, wistfully.

"For what? " asked Jean.

"Y'ur bein' a gentleman," she replied, with force. Oh, I've not
forgotten. I had friends when we lived in Texas. . . . Three years
ago. Shore it seems longer. Three miserable years in this damned
country!"

Then she bit her lip, evidently to keep back further unwitting
utterance to a total stranger. And it was that biting of her lip
that drew Jean's attention to her mouth. It held beauty of curve
and fullness and color that could not hide a certain sadness and
bitterness. Then the whole flashing brown face changed for Jean.
He saw that it was young, full of passion and restraint, possessing
a power which grew on him. This, with her shame and pathos and the
fact that she craved respect, gave a leap to Jean's interest.

"Well, I reckon you flatter me," he said, hoping to put her at her
ease again. "I'm only a rough hunter an' fisherman-woodchopper an'
horse tracker. Never had all the school I needed--nor near enough
company of nice girls like you."