the other four, he found that they were taking the violence of Pollard quite as a matter of course. One was whittling, another rolled a cigarette, and all of them, if they took any visible notice of the argument, did so with the calmest of side glances.
“Turn around!” roared Pollard.
His daughter turned slowly and faced him. Not white-faced with fear, but to the unutterable astonishment of Terry she was quietly looking her father up and down. Pollard sprang to his feet and struck the table so that it quivered through all its massive length.
“Are you trying to shame me before a stranger?” thundered the big man. “Is that the scene?”
She flicked Terry Hollis with a glance. “I think he'll understand and make allowances.”
It brought the heavy fist smashing on the table again. And an ugly feeling rose in Hollis that the big fellow might put hands on his daughter.
“And what d'you mean by that? What in hell d'you mean by that?”
In place of wincing, she in turn came to her feet gracefully. There had been such an easy dignity about her sitting at the piano that she had seemed tall to Terry. Now that she stood up, he was surprised to see that she was not a shade more than average height, beautifully and strongly made.
“You've gone about far enough with your little joke,” said the girl, and her voice was low, but with an edge of vibrancy that went through Hollis. “And you're going to stop—pronto!”
There was a flash of teeth as she spoke, and a quiver through her body. Terry had never seen such passion, such unreasoning, wild passion, as that which had leaped on the girl. Though her face was not contorted, danger spoke from every line of it. He made himself tense, prepared for a similar outbreak from the father, but the latter relaxed as suddenly as his daughter had become furious.
“There you go,” he complained, with a sort of heavy whine. “Always flying off the handle. Always turning into a wildcat when I try to reason with you!”
“Reason!” cried the girl. “Reason!”
Joe Pollard grew downcast under her scorn. And Terry, sensing that the crisis of the argument had passed, watched the other four men in the room. They had not paid the slightest attention to the debate during its later phases. And two of them—Slim and huge Phil Marvin—had begun to roll dice on a folded blanket, the little ivories winking in the light rapidly until they came to a rest at the farther end of the cloth. Possibly this family strife was a common thing in the Pollard household. At any rate, the father now passed off from accusation to abrupt apology. “You always get me riled at the end of the day, Kate. Damn it! Can't you never bear with a gent?”
The tigerish alertness passed from Kate Pollard. She was filled all at once with a winning gentleness and, crossing to her father, took his heavy hands in hers.
“I reckon I'm a bad one,” she accused herself. “I try to get over tantrums—but—I can't help it! Something— just sort of grabs me by the throat when I get mad. I—I see red.”
“Hush up, honey,” said the big man tenderly, and he ran his thick fingers over her hair. “You ain't so bad. And all that's bad in you comes out of me. You forget and I'll forget.”
He waved across the table.
“Terry'll be thinking we're a bunch of wild Indians the way we been actin'.”
“Oh!”
Plainly she was recalled to the presence of the stranger for the first time in many minutes and, dropping her chin in her hand, she studied the new arrival.
He found it difficult to meet her glance. The Lord had endowed Terry Hollis with a remarkable share of good looks, and it was not the first time that he had been investigated by the eyes of a woman. But in all his life he had never been subjected to an examination as minute, as insolently frank as this one. He felt himself taken part and parcel, examined in detail as to forehead, chin, and eyes and heft of shoulders, and then weighed altogether. In self-defense he looked boldly back at her, making himself examine her in equal detail. Seeing her so close, he was aware of a marvellously delicate olive-tanned skin with delightful tints of rose just beneath the surface. He found himself saying inwardly: “It's easy to look at her. It's very easy. By the Lord, she's beautiful!”
As for the girl, it seemed that she was not quite sure in her judgment. For now she turned to her father with a faint frown of wonder. And again it seemed to Terry that Joe Pollard made an imperceptible sign, such as he had made to the four men when he introduced Terry.
But now he broke into breezy talk.
“Met Terry down in Pedro's—”
The girl seemed to have dismissed Terry from her mind already, for she broke in: “Crooked game he's running, isn't it?”
“I thought so till today. Then I seen Terry, here, trim Pedro for a flat twenty thousand!”
“Oh,” nodded the girl. Again her gaze reverted leisurely to the stranger and with a not unflattering interest.
“And then I seen him lose most of it back again. Roulette.”
She nodded, keeping her eyes on Terry, and the boy found himself desiring mightily to discover just what was going on behind the changing green of her eyes. He was shocked when he discovered. It came like the break of high dawn in the mountains of the Big Bend. Suddenly she had smiled openly, frankly. “Hard luck, partner!”
A little shivering sense of pleasure ran through him. He knew that he had been admitted by her— accepted.
Her father had thrown up his head.
“Someone come in the back way. Oregon, go find out!”
Dark-eyed Oregon Charlie slipped up and through the door. Everyone in the room waited, a little tense, with
