The evening after his election as sheriff, Billie called at the home of Pauline Roubideau, who was keeping house for her brother.  Jack Goodheart was leaving just as Prince stepped upon the porch.  It had been two years now since Jack had ceased to gravitate in the direction of Lee Snaith.  His eyes and his footsteps for many months had turned often toward Polly.

The gaze of the sheriff-elect followed the lank figure of the retreating man.

“I’ve a notion to ask that man to give up a good business to wear a deputy’s star for me,” he told Pauline.

“Oh, I wouldn’t,” she said quickly.

“Why not?  He’d be a good man for the job.  I want some one game—­some one who will go through when he starts.”

His questioning eyes rested on hers.  She felt a difficulty in justifying her protest.

“I don’t know—­I just thought—­”

“I’m waiting,” said Prince with a smile.

“He wouldn’t take it, would he?” she fenced.

“If it was put up to him right I think he would.  Of course, it would be a sacrifice for him to make, but good citizens have to do that these days.”

“He’s had so much hard luck and been so long getting a start I don’t think you ought to ask him.”  The color spilled over her cheeks like wine shaken from a glass upon a white cloth.  Polly was always ardent on behalf of a friend.

“I can’t help that.  There’s another man I have in mind, but if I don’t get him it will be up to Jack.”

“Will it be dangerous?”

“No more than smoking a cigarette above an open keg of powder.  But you don’t suppose that would keep him from accepting the job, do you?”

“No,” she admitted.  “He would take it if he thought he ought.  But I hope you get the other man.”

Billie dismissed the subject and drew up a chair beside the hammock in which she was leaning back.

“This is my birthday, Polly,” he told her.  “I’m twenty-four years old.”

“Good gracious!  What a Methuselah!”

“I want a present, so I’ve come to ask for it.”

With a sidelong tilt of her chin she flashed a look of quick eyes at him.  Her voice did not betray the pulse, of excitement that was beginning to beat in her blood.

“You’ve just been elected sheriff.  Isn’t that enough?” she evaded.

“That’s a fine present to hand a man,” he answered grimly.  “An’ I didn’t notice you bubble with enthusiasm when I spoke of givin’ half the glory to Goodheart.”

“But I haven’t a thing you’d care for.  If I’d only known in time I’d have sent to Vegas and got you something nice.”

“You don’t have to send to Vegas for it, Polly.  The present I want is right here,” he said simply.

She reached out a little hand impulsively.  “Billie, I believe you ’re the best man I know—­the very best.”

“I hate to hear that.  You’re tryin’ to let me down easy.”