Beth Norvell

She flashed her tempting glance up into the man's face, and Brown

stamped his feet nervously, endeavoring to appear stern.

"C-c-could n't h-hardly do it, m-m-miss. It 's t-too blame dirty

d-d-down below fer y-your sort. B-b-besides, my p-pardner ain't yere,

an' he m-m-might not l-like it."

"You haf de pardner? Who vas de pardner?"

"H-h-his name's H-H-Hicks."

She clasped her hands in an ecstasy of unrestrained delight.

"Beell Heeks? Oh, señor, I know Beell Heeks. He vas ver' nice fellow,

too--but no so pretty like you; he old man an' swear--Holy Mother, how

he swear! He tol' me once come out any time an' see hees mine. I not

know vere it vas before. Maybe de angels show me. You vas vat Beell

call Stutter Brown, I tink maybe? Ah, now it be all right, señor.

Bueno!"

She laid her gauntleted hand softly on the rough sleeve of his woollen

shirt, her black, appealing eyes flashing suddenly up into his troubled

face.

"I moost laugh, señor; such a brav' Americano 'fraid of de girl. Why

not you shoot me?"

"A-a-afraid nothin'," and Stutter's freckled face became instantly as

rosy as his admired hair, "b-but I t-tell ye, miss, it's a-a-all d-dirt

down th-there, an' not f-f-fit fer no lady ter t-t-traipse round in."

The temptress, never once doubting her power, smiled most bewitchingly,

her hands eloquent.

"You vas good boy, just like I tink; I wear dis ol' coat--see; an' den

I turn up de skirt, so. I no 'fraid de dirt. Now, vat you say, señor?

Bueno?"

Thus speaking, she seized upon the discarded and somewhat disreputable

garment, flung it carelessly about her shapely shoulders, shrugging

them coquettishly, her great eyes shyly uplifting to his relenting

face, and began swiftly to fasten up her already short dress in

disregard of the exposure of trim ankles. The agitated Mr. Brown

coughed, his uneasy glances straying down the open shaft. He would

gladly, and with extreme promptness, have shoved the cold muzzle of his

Colt beneath the nose of any man at such moment of trial; but this

young girl, with a glance and a laugh, had totally disarmed him.

Disturbed conscience, a feeling akin to disloyalty, pricked him, but

the temptation left him powerless to resist--those black eyes held him

already captive; and yet in this moment of wavering indecision, that

teasing hand once again rested lightly upon his shirt-sleeve.

"Please do dat, señor," the voice low and pleading. "It vas not ver'

mooch just to let a girl see your leetle mine. What harm, señor? But

maybe it's so because you no like me?"