the impression she was twenty
years old or more. She had the most exquisite hands Duane had ever seen.
She did not resemble the Colonel, who was evidently her father. She
looked tired, quiet, even melancholy. A finely chiseled oval face;
clear, olive-tinted skin, long eyes set wide apart and black as coal,
beautiful to look into; a slender, straight nose that had something
nervous and delicate about it which made Duane think of a thoroughbred;
and a mouth by no means small, but perfectly curved; and hair like
jet--all these features proclaimed her beauty to Duane. Duane believed
her a descendant of one of the old French families of eastern Texas. He
was sure of it when she looked at him, drawn by his rather persistent
gaze. There were pride, fire, and passion in her eyes. Duane felt
himself blushing in confusion. His stare at her had been rude, perhaps,
but unconscious. How many years had passed since he had seen a girl like
her! Thereafter he kept his eyes upon his plate, yet he seemed to be
aware that he had aroused the interest of both girls.

After supper the guests assembled in a big sitting-room where an open
fire place with blazing mesquite sticks gave out warmth and cheery glow.
Duane took a seat by a table in the corner, and, finding a paper,
began to read. Presently when he glanced up he saw two dark-faced
men, strangers who had not appeared before, and were peering in from a
doorway. When they saw Duane had observed them they stepped back out of
sight.

It flashed over Duane that the strangers acted suspiciously. In Texas
in the seventies it was always bad policy to let strangers go unheeded.
Duane pondered a moment. Then he went out to look over these two men.
The doorway opened into a patio, and across that was a little dingy,
dim-lighted bar-room. Here Duane found the innkeeper dispensing drinks
to the two strangers. They glanced up when he entered, and one of them
whispered. He imagined he had seen one of them before. In Texas, where
outdoor men were so rough, bronzed, bold, and sometimes grim of aspect,
it was no easy task to pick out the crooked ones. But Duane's years on
the border had augmented a natural instinct or gift to read character,
or at least to sense the evil in men; and he knew at once that these
strangers were dishonest.

"Hey somethin'?" one of them asked, leering. Both looked Duane up and
down.

"No thanks, I don't drink," Duane replied, and returned their scrutiny
with interest. "