She answered sullenly:  “You’re your own boss.”

“What’s wrong with Nash?”

“Find out for yourself.”

“Are all these fellows something other than they seem?”

“What about yourself?”

“How do you mean that?”

“What trail are you on, Bard?  Don’t look so innocent.  Oh, I seen you was after something a long time ago.”

“I am.  After excitement, you know.”

“Ain’t you finding enough?”

“I’ve got two things ahead of me.”

“Well?”

“This trip, and when I come back I think making love to you would be more exciting than gun-plays.”

They regarded each other with bantering smiles.

“A tenderfoot like you make love to me?  That would be exciting, all right, if it wasn’t so funny.”

“As for the competition,” he said serenely, “that would be simply a good background.”

“Hate yourself, don’t you, Bard?” she grinned.

“The rest of these boys are all very well, but they don’t see that what you want is the velvet touch.”

“What’s that?”

She was as frankly curious as some boy hearing a new game described.

“You’ve only been loved in one way.  These rough-handed fellows come in and throw an arm around you and ask you to marry them; isn’t that it?  What you really need, is an old, simple, but very effective method.”

Though her eyes were shining, she yawned.

“It don’t interest me, Bard.”

“On the contrary, you’re getting quite excited.”

“So does a horse before it gets ready to buck.”

“Exactly.  If I thought it would be easy I wouldn’t be tempted.”

“Well, if you like fighting you’ve sure mapped out a nice sizeable quarrel with me, Bud.”

“Good.  I’m certainly coming back to Eldara.  Now about this method of mine—­”

“Throwing your cards on the table, eh?  What you got, Bard, a royal flush?”

“Right again.  It’s a very simple method but you couldn’t beat it.”

“Bud, you ain’t half old enough to kid me.”

“What you need,” he persisted calmly, “is someone who would sit down and simply talk good, plain English to you.”

“Let ’er go.”

“In the first place I will call attention to your method of dressing.”

“Anything wrong with it?”

“I knew you’d be interested.”

She slipped into a chair and sat cross-legged in it, her elbows on her knees and her chin cupped in both her hands.

“Sure I’m interested.  If there’s a new way fixin’ ham-and, serve it out.”

“I would begin,” he went on judiciously, “by saying that you dressed in five minutes in the dark.”

“It’s generally dark at 5 a.m.,” she admitted.

“You look, on the whole, as if you’d fallen into your clothes.”

The wounded man stirred and groaned faintly.

She called:  “Lie down, Butch; I’m busy.  Go on, Bard.”