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 commodate people wide at the waistline, a style not current in Damascus in those hard-riding days. Elizabeth's horse was snipping around with free rein, forelegs spread to bring its nose down to the short grass.

"Yes, everything was going fine until the delegate from Simrall arrived," Hall said, ashamed of his part in the subsequent activities, looking down at his toes like a bashful boy.

"You oughtn't take such risks," she reproved him.

"I thought he'd shot the station agent, but I don't suppose it would have mattered. He seems to be an unpopular sort of man. The old fool was slinging his gun around kind of recklessly—he might have hit some of the women. But you know how it was."

"I've heard several versions and variations. I wasn't there when it happened; Gus put in his appearance after I'd left."

"Somebody shot him through the arm," he said, with such weakness of effect as to sound almost foolish in his ears.

"But you took a long risk when you walked out with that sponge in your hand," she told him, looking at him gravely, shaking her head with solemn disapprobation. "It was a fine bluff, but suppose it hadn't worked?"

"Providence, or some power, appears to raise up friends and protectors for me when they're most needed. I suppose somebody would have stepped up and piloted me out of the scrape, Elizabeth."

Elizabeth shook her head again, not touched by the deep note of gratitude in his voice, unmoved by his meaning glance. She did not change color; there was no embarrassment in her steady, frank eyes, such as one might