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 pare with Sallie McCoy, but he knew that she could have done better than she did with that old trained steer.

She sat cross-legged like an Arab beside the fire, her hat on the ground, the light in her beautiful black hair, strong on the white and pink of her handsome bold face, turning the flapjacks with a flip of the pan, flashing them up like fish leaping in the sun. He stood by admiring her, for she compelled that as her due, no matter what secrets her heart carried, no matter what her adventures had been.

"Texas?" she said, not turning her eyes from her task.

"Yes, ma'am."

"Call me Fannie: they all do. Texas, where did you come from?"

"Kansas City, most recently, Miss Fannie."

"Oh, I mean where did you come from—where did you start? Here"—offering a tin plate of cakes and bacon—"sit down and begin your supper, and tell me about yourself. If you've got anything to hide, skip it. I'm pretty good on the guess."

"There isn't anything in particular to hide, Fannie," said he, thoughtfully, putting his hat down beside him as if he prepared for a ceremony. "I started in Taixas, and I come to the end of my