o antecedents, no blood, and
even in a town like Prouty such things count. Her mother was Jezebel of
the Sand Coulee, a notorious roadhouse in the southern part of the
state; her father was God-knows-who--some freighter or sheepherder, most
like."

"Interesting--quite. Go on."

Toomey did not note the constraint in Prentiss's voice and proceeded
with gusto:

"She followed off a fellow called Mormon Joe, and trailed in here in
overalls behind the little band of ewes that gave them their start. He
took up a homestead back in the hills and they lived on about as near
nothing as anybody could, and live at all--like a couple of white
Indians sleeping in tents and eating out of a frying pan.

"A chap that was visiting me one summer brought her to a dance here at
the Prouty House--did it on a bet that he hadn't sand enough. She came
downstairs looking like a Christmas tree. Everybody gave her the frosty
mitt and they had to leave."

Prentiss watched a smoke ring rise before he asked:

"Why did they do that?"

"So she wouldn't make the same mistake again."

Toomey laughed, and added:

"They took a 'fall' out of her every time they could after that. There
was something about her that invited it," he added reflectively, "the
way she held her head up, as if she defied them to do their worst, and,"
chuckling, "they did."

Prentiss thrust a forefinger inside his collar and gave it a tug as
though it choked.

"This Mormon Joe--what became of him?"

The gleeful light went out of Toomey's face.

"He was killed in a shack down here."

"How?"

"A trap-gun."

"By whom?"

Toomey recrossed his long legs and sought a new position for his hands
with the quick erratic movements of nervousness. He hesitated, then
replied:

"They suspected her."

"Why?"

"She was the only one to benefit."

"There was no proof?"

"No."

"What do you think?"

Toomey deliberated a moment:

"I believe her innocent, myself," he finally replied.

"So she grew up out there in the hills without any friends or social
life," Prentiss commented, musingly.

"There was always a camptender and a sheepherder or two about," Toomey
answered with slurring significance.

Prentiss brushed the ashes from his cigar.

"And Prouty had no sympathy with her in her loneliness, but considered
her a legitimate target--somebody that everybody 'took a fall out of,'
you say?"

There was a quality in his voice now which made Toomey glance at the man