ie.
Bland, like all the other outlaws along this river, is always looking
for somebody to kill. He SWEARS not, but I don't believe him. He
explains that gunplay gravitates to men who are the real thing--that it
is provoked by the four-flushes, the bad men. I don't know. All I know
is that somebody is being killed every other day. He hated Spence before
Spence ever saw me."

"Would Bland object if I called on you occasionally?" inquired Duane.

"No, he wouldn't. He likes me to have friends. Ask him yourself when he
comes back. The trouble has been that two or three of his men fell in
love with me, and when half drunk got to fighting. You're not going to
do that."

"I'm not going to get half drunk, that's certain," replied Duane.

He was surprised to see her eyes dilate, then glow with fire. Before
she could reply Euchre returned to the porch, and that put an end to the
conversation.

Duane was content to let the matter rest there, and had little more to
say. Euchre and Mrs. Bland talked and joked, while Duane listened.
He tried to form some estimate of her character. Manifestly she had
suffered a wrong, if not worse, at Bland's hands. She was bitter,
morbid, overemotional. If she was a liar, which seemed likely enough,
she was a frank one, and believed herself. She had no cunning. The thing
which struck Duane so forcibly was that she thirsted for respect.
In that, better than in her weakness of vanity, he thought he had
discovered a trait through which he could manage her.

Once, while he was revolving these thoughts, he happened to glance into
the house, and deep in the shadow of a corner he caught a pale gleam
of Jennie's face with great, staring eyes on him. She had been watching
him, listening to what he said. He saw from her expression that she had
realized what had been so hard for her to believe. Watching his chance,
he flashed a look at her; and then it seemed to him the change in her
face was wonderful.

Later, after he had left Mrs. Bland with a meaning "Adios--manana," and
was walking along beside the old outlaw, he found himself thinking of
the girl instead of the woman, and of how he had seen her face blaze
with hope and gratitude.

CHAPTER VII

That night Duane was not troubled by ghosts haunting his waking and
sleeping hours. He awoke feeling bright and eager, and grateful to
Euchre for having put something worth while into his mind. During
breakfast, however, he was unusually thoughtful, w