instead of walking beside him without a word. He should have explained. He
would have explained if he had not been so very anxious to get inside that
saloon and get drunk.

She had always heard that cowboys were chivalrous, and brave, and
fascinating in their picturesque dare-deviltry, but from the lone specimen
which she had met she could not see that they possessed any of those
qualities. If all cowboys were like that, she hoped that she would not be
compelled to meet any of them. And _why_ didn't Manley come?

It was then that an inner door--a door which she had wanted to open, but
had lacked courage--squeaked upon its hinges, and an ill-kept bundle of
hair was thrust in, topping a weather-beaten face and a scrawny little
body. Two faded, inquisitive eyes looked her over, and the woman sidled in,
somewhat abashed, but too curious to remain outside.

"Oh yes!" She seemed to be answering some inner question. "I didn't know
you was here." She went over and removed the newspaper from the portrait.
"That breed girl of mine ain't got the least idea of how to straighten up
a room," she observed complainingly. "I guess she thinks this picture was
made to hang things on. I'll have to round her up again and tell her a few
things. This is my first husband. He was in politics and got beat, and so
he killed himself. He couldn't stand to have folks give him the laugh." She
spoke with pride. "He was a real handsome man, don't you think? You mighta
took off the paper; it didn't belong there, and he does brighten up the
room. A good picture is real company, seems to me. When my old man gets on
the rampage till I can't stand it no longer, I come in here and set, and
look at Walt. 'T ain't every man that's got nerve to kill himself--with a
shotgun. It was turrible! He took and tied a string to the trigger--"