“I know what it is—­every stranger asks it—­but I didn’t think you would.  You want to know if I am decent?  Well, I am, you bet!” she returned, a defiant note creeping into her voice as she uttered the concluding words.

“Oh, Girl, I’m not blind!” His eyes quailed before the look that flamed in hers.  “And that was not the question.”

Instinctively something told the Girl that the man spoke the truth, but notwithstanding which, she permitted her eyes to express disbelief and “Dear me suz!” fell from her lips with an odd little laugh.  On the other hand, Johnson declined to treat the subject other than seriously.  He had no desire, of course, to enlarge upon the unconventionality of her attitude, but he felt that his feelings towards her, even if they were only friendly, justified him in giving her a warning.  Moreover, he refused to admit to himself that this was a mere chance meeting.  He had a consciousness, vague, but nevertheless real that, at last, after all his searching, Fate had brought him face to face with the one woman in all the world for him.  Unknown to himself, therefore, there was a sort of jealous proprietorship in his manner towards her as he now said: 

“What I meant was this:  I am sorry to find you here almost at the mercy of the passer-by, where a man may come, may drink, may rob you if he will—­” and here a flush of shame spread over his features in spite of himself—­“and where, I daresay, more than one has laid claim to a kiss.”

The Girl turned upon him in good-natured contempt.

“There’s a good many people claimin’ things they never git.  I’ve got my first kiss to give.”

Once more a brief silence fell upon them in which the Girl busied herself with her cash box.  She was not unaware that his eyes were upon her, but she was by no means sure that he believed her words.  Nor could she tell herself, unfortunately for her peace of mind, that it made no difference to her.

“Have you been here long?” suddenly he asked.

“Yep.”

“Lived in The Polka?”

“Nope.”

“Where do you live?”

“Cabin up the mountain a little ways.”

“Cabin up the mountain a little ways,” echoed Johnson, reflectively.  The next instant the little figure before him had faded from his sight and instead there appeared a vision of the little hut on the top of Cloudy Mountain.  Only a few hours back he had stood on the precipice which looked towards it, and had felt a vague, indefinable something, had heard a voice speak to him out of the vastness which he now believed to have been her spirit calling to him.

“You’re worth something better than this,” after a while he murmured with the tenderness of real love in his voice.

“What’s better’n this?” questioned the Girl with a toss of her pretty blonde head.  “I ain’t a-boastin’ but if keepin’ this saloon don’t give me sort of a position ’round here I dunno what does.”