girl.
The youths who came in to the dances at Lukin were an embarrassed lot
who kept a sulky distance, as though they made it a matter of pride to
show they were able to resist the attraction of a pretty girl. But if
she gave them the least encouragement, the merest shadow of a friendly
smile, they were at once all eagerness. They would flock around her,
sending savage glances to one another, and simpering foolishly at her.
They had stock conversation of politeness; they forced out prodigious
compliments to an accompaniment of much writhing. Social conversation
was a torture to them, and the girl knew it.

Not that she despised them. She understood perfectly well that most of
them were fine fellows and strong men. But their talents had been
cultivated in roping two-year-olds and bulldogging yearlings. They could
encounter the rush of a mad bull far more easily than they could
withstand a verbal quip. With the familiarity of years, she knew, they
lost both their sullenness and their starched politeness. They became
kindly, gentle men with infinite patience, infinite devotion to their
"womenfolk." Homelier girls in Lukin had an easier time with them. But
in the presence of Ruth Manning, who was a more or less celebrated
beauty, they were a hopeless lot. In short, she had all her life been in
an amphibious position, of the mountain desert and yet not of the
mountain desert. On the one hand she despised the "slick dudes" who now
and again drifted into Lukin with marvelous neckties and curiously
patterned clothes; on the other hand, something in her revolted at the
thought of becoming one of the "womenfolk."

As a matter of fact, there are two things which every young girl should
have. The first is the presence of a mother, which is the oldest of
truisms; the second is the friendship of at least one man of nearly her
own age. Ruth had neither. That is the crying hurt of Western life. The
men are too busy to bother with women until the need for a wife and a
home and children, and all the physical destiny of a man, overwhelms
them. When they reach this point there is no selection. The first girl
they meet they make love to.

And most of this Ruth understood. She wanted to make some of those
lumbering, fearless, strong-handed, gentle-souled men her friends. But
she dared not make the approaches. The first kind word or the first
winning smile brought forth a volley of tremendous compliments, close on
the heels of which follow