"Yes, I can dance," replied Neale.

"Then will you dance with me?" she retorted, and red spots showed through the white on her cheeks.

"I told you no," replied Neale.

His reply transported her into a sudden fury. She swung her hand viciously. Hough caught it, saving Neale from a sounding slap in the face.

"Ruby, don't lose your temper," remonstrated the gambler.

"He insulted me!" she cried, pa.s.sionately.

"He did not. Ruby, you're spoiled--"

"Spoiled--h.e.l.l!... Didn't he look at me, flirt with me? That's why I asked him to dance. Then he insulted me. I'll make Cordy shoot him up for it."

"No, you won't," replied Hough, and he pulled her toward his companion, a tall woman with golden hair. "Stanton, shut her up."

The woman addressed spoke a few words in Ruby's ear. Then the girl flounced away. But she spoke with withering scorn to Neale.

"What in h.e.l.l did you come in here for, you big handsome stiff?"

With that she was lost amid her mirthful companions.

Hough turned to Neale. "The girl's a favorite. You ruffled her vanity...

you see. That's Benton. If you had happened to be alone you would have had gunplay. Be careful after this."

"But I didn't flirt with her," protested Neale. "I only looked at her--curiously, of course. And I said I wouldn't dance."

Hough laughed. "You're young in Benton. Neale, let me introduce to you the lady who saved you from some inconvenience.... Miss Stanton--Mr.

Neale."

And that was how Neale met Beauty Stanton. It seemed she had done him a service. He thanked her. Neale's manner with women was courteous and deferential. It showed strangely here by contrast. The Stanton woman was superb, not more than thirty years old, with a face that must have been lovely once and held the haunting ghost of beauty still. Her hair was dead gold; her eyes were large and blue, with dark circles under them; and her features had a clear-cut cla.s.sic regularity.

"Where's Ancliffe?" asked Hough, addressing Stanton. She pointed, and Hough left them.

"Neale, you're new here," affirmed the woman, rather curiously.

"Didn't I look like it? I can't forget what that girl said," replied Neale.

"Tell me."

"She asked me what in the h.e.l.l I came here for. And she called me--"

"Oh, I heard what Ruby called you. It's a wonder it wasn't worse. She can swear like a trooper. The men are mad over Ruby. It'd be just like her to fall in love with you for snubbing her."

"I hope she doesn't," replied Neale, constrainedly.

"May I ask--what did you come here for?"

"You mean here to your dance-hall? Why, Hough brought me. I met him. We played cards and--"

"No. I mean what brought you to Benton?"

"I just drifted here.... I'm looking for a--a lost friend," said Neale.

"No work? But you're no spiker or capper or boss. I know that sort. And I can spot a gambler a mile. The whole world meets out here in Benton.

But not many young men like you wander into my place."

"Like me? How so?"

"The men here are wolves on the scent for flesh; like bandits on the trail of gold.... But you--you're like my friend Ancliffe."

"Who is he?" asked Neale, politely.

"WHO is he? G.o.d only knows. But he's an Englishman and a gentleman. It's a pity men like Ancliffe and you drift out here."

She spoke seriously. She had the accent and manner of breeding.

"Why, Miss Stanton?" inquired Neale. He was finding another woman here and it was interesting to him.

"Because it means wasted life. You don't work. You're not crooked. You can't do any good. And only a knife in the back or a bullet from some drunken bully's gun awaits you."

"That isn't a very hopeful outlook, I'll admit," replied Neale, thoughtfully.

At this point Hough returned with a pale, slender man whose clothes and gait were not American. He introduced him as Ancliffe. Neale felt another accession of interest. Benton might be h.e.l.l, but he was meeting new types of men and women. Ancliffe was fair; he had a handsome face that held a story, and tired blue eyes that looked out upon the world wearily and mildly, without curiosity and without hope. An Englishman of broken fortunes.

"Just arrived, eh?" he said to Neale. "Rather jolly here, don't you think?"

"A fellow's not going to stagnate in Benton," replied Neale.

"Not while he's alive," interposed Stanton.

"Miss Stanton, that idea seems to persist with you--the brevity of life," said Neale, smiling. "What are the average days for a mortal in this b.l.o.o.d.y Benton?"

"Days! You mean hours. I call the night blessed that some one is not dragged out of my place. And I don't sell drinks.... I've saved Ancliffe's life nine times I know of. Either he hasn't any sense or he wants to get killed."

"I a.s.sure you it's the former," said the Englishman.

"But, my friends, I'm serious," she returned, earnestly. "This awful place is getting on my nerves.... Mr. Neale here, he would have had to face a gun already but for me."

"Miss Stanton, I appreciate your kindness," replied Neale. "But it doesn't follow that if I had to face a gun I'd be sure to go down."

"You can throw a gun?" questioned Hough.

"I had a cowboy gun-thrower for a partner for years, out on the surveying of the road. He's the friend I mentioned."

"Boy, you're courting death!" exclaimed Stanton.