ssing on delicate ground--sold them?"

Lucy tittered. "Yes, I sold some of them," she replied.

This gave them a basis for conversation, and they progressed famously
until the grinning face of a railroad-construction stiff appeared
suddenly at the door.

"Hey!" he called to other stiffs behind him. "Look wot's goin' on!"

"Hello, there, 'Squinty' Malley!" and Jo laughed. "Get your face out
of that door. This is sacred ground, you roughneck!"

"Look at Jo!" derided Squinty, an old friend of the girl's in many a
half-remembered camp. "Hey, youse plugs, gadder 'round here and lamp
Jerkline Jo dollin' up! Good night!"

"Beat it now!" Jo reiterated.

"Say, dis here's good!" retorted Squinty. "I to't youse was a reg'lar
woman, Jo! Youse know more 'bout cuffin' ole Jack an' Ned dan youse do
'bout fixin' yer hair. Say, lady," he addressed Lucy, "fix 'er
up--hey? Doll 'er up proper, an' le's see wot de ol'-timer looks like."

"You'll oblige me by getting out of the door," said Lucy indignantly.

"Oh, don't scold the poor eel!" pleaded Jerkline Jo. "He doesn't know
any better. So you want to see me dolled up, do you, Squint? By
George, you're on, old-timer! I've got some glad rags here in this
burg. Go on now! I'll be the queen of the ball to-night!"

"Lucy," Jo laughed familiarly when the tramps had vanished, "fix up my
hair the best you possibly can. Give me the latest, will you? I'm
going to have some fun to-night."

An hour later, when darkness had settled over Ragtown and the night's
revel was on, there entered the Palace Dance Hall a figure that brought
gamblers from their absorbing games, stopped the dizzying whirl of the
dancers, and caused glasses that were halfway to eager lips to pause in
mid-air.

Jerkline Jo's almost black hair was piled on top of her head in
bewildering fashion, and set off with flashing rhinestone ornaments,
furnished by Lucy Dalles. Jo wore a semievening dress of pale-blue
silk, and Lucy had powdered her face and neck until little contrast
could be noted between skin that had braved the desert winds and that
which had been protected. Jo wore fashionable slippers with great
shell buckles and high French heels. She cast a dazzling smile over
the silent assemblage, then threw back her glorious head and let her
laughter ring.

That laugh revealed her identity.

"Jerkline Jo!" came a chorus of yells, and men stared at her, while
women drew together in groups, their