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 "Well, like what you said. Now that gal over there, reckon she's all right, don't you? Never saw one that looked more innocent in my life, boy."

Wade studied the girl in question a moment. She was dressed expensively but quietly. A sealskin coat draped the chair behind her and a toque of the same material nestled against her dark hair. The face beneath was that of a pale Madonna, with wide, wondering, brown eyes, hung with heavy lashes. Her table companions were three middle-aged men, blasé, weary-eyed. Their waiter was pouring the second bottle of champagne. Wade shrugged his shoulders gravely.

"Rather too innocent, isn't she, Dave?" he asked.

"Reckon that's what's been worryin' me," said Dave with relief. "She looks too much like the hound-dog after he'd et the chicken. Still—I dunno, partner. She's a mighty nice lookin' gal."

But presently the nice looking girl forgot