nervous. It seemed that all
apprehension had left her.

"Where's Cartwright?" she asked.

"Sitting in a game of poker."

"Hello, buddy!" she called to a redheaded youngster. "Go in and tell
Cartwright that I'm waiting for him in my room, will you?"

"Ain't no use," said Pop, staring at this new and more masculine Jig.
"Cartwright is all heated up about the game. And he's lost enough to
get anybody excited. He won't come. Better go in there if you want to
see him."

"I'll try my luck this way," said Jig coldly. "Run along, buddy."

Buddy obeyed, and Jig went up the stairs to her room.

"What come over him?" asked the crowd, the moment Cold Feet was out of
sight. "Looks like he's growed up in a day!"

"He's gone through enough to make a man of him," answered Pop. "Never
can tell how a kid will turn out."

But in her room Jig had sunk into a chair, dropped her elbows on the
table, and buried her face in her hands, trying to steady her thoughts.
She heard the heavy pounding of feet on the stairs, a strong tread in
the hall that made the flooring of the old building quiver, and then
the door was flung open, slammed shut, and the key turned in the lock.
Cartwright set his shoulders against the door, as though he feared she
would try to rush past him. He stared at her, with a queer admixture of
fear, rage, and astonishment.

"So I've got you at last, eh? I've got you, after all this?"

Curiously she stared at him. She had dreaded the interview, but now
that he was before her she was surprised to find that she felt no fear.
She examined him as if from a distance.

"Yes," she admitted, "you have me. Will you sit down?"

"I need room to talk," he said, swaggering to the table. He struck his
fist on it. "Now, to start with, what in thunder did you mean by
running away?"

"We're leaving the past to bury the past," she said. "That's the first
concession you have to make."

He laughed, his laughter ending with a choked sound. "And why should
_I_ make concessions?"

Jig watched the veins of fury swell in his forehead, watched calmly,
and then threw her sombrero on the bed and smoothed back her hair,
still watching without a change of expression. It seemed as if her calm
acted to sober him, and the passing of her hand across the bright,
silken hair all at once softened him. He sank into the opposite chair,
leaning far across the table toward her.

"Honey, take you all in all, you're prettier right here in this man