party and got separated from the rest.

"So I got sympathetic--"

"About the first time on record that you've been sympathetic with
another girl, eh?"

"Shut up, Pierre! And I brought her in here--right into your cabin,
without thinking what I was doing, and gave her a cup of coffee. Of
course it was a pretty greenhorn trick, but I guess no harm will come
of it. The girl thinks it's a prospector's cabin--which it was once.
She went on her way, happy, because I told her of the right trail to
get back with her gang. That's all there is to it. Are you mad at me
for letting any one come into this place?"

"Mad?" he smiled. "No, I think that's one of the best lies you ever
told me, Jack."

Their eyes met, hers very wide, and his keen and steady. The she
gripped at the butt of her gun, an habitual trick when she was very
angry, and cried:

"Do I have to sit here and let you call me--that? Pierre, pull a few
more tricks like that and I'll call for a new deal. Get me?"

She rose, whirled, and threw herself sullenly on her bunk.

"Come back," said Pierre. "You're more scared than angry. Why are you
afraid, Jack?"

"It's a lie--I'm not afraid!"

"Let me see that glove again."

"You've seen it once--that's enough."

He whistled carelessly, rolling a cigarette. After he lighted it he
said: "Ready to talk yet, partner?"

She maintained an obstinate silence, but that sharp eye saw that she
was trembling. He set his teeth and then drew several long puffs on
his cigarette.

"I'm going to count to ten, pal, and when I finish you're going to tell
me everything straight. In the mean time don't stay there thinking up
a new lie. I know you too well, and if you try the same thing on me
again--"

"Well?" she snarled, all the tiger coming back in her voice.

"You'll talk, all right. Here goes the count: One--two--three--four--"

As he counted, leaving a long drag of two or three seconds between
numbers, there was not a change in the figure of the girl. She still
lay with her back turned on him, and the only expressive part that
showed was her hand. First it lay limp against her hip, but as the
monotonous count proceeded it gathered to a fist.

"Five--six--seven--"

It seemed that he had been counting for hours, his will against her
will, the man in him against the woman in her, and during the pauses
between the sound of his voice the very air grew charged with waiting.
To the girl the wait for every