"
"Damn his soul!" growled the other by way of a prefix to his story. "It
ain't any of the three with me. This Bard--maybe he tried his hand with
you?"
Whether it was rage or scorn that made her start and redden he could not
tell.
"Me?" she repeated. "A tenderfoot get fresh with me? Stranger, you ain't
been long in Eldara or you wouldn't pull a bonehead like that."
"'Scuse me. I was hopin' that maybe you took a fall out of him, that's
all."
He studied the blue eyes. They had been tinted with ugly green a moment
before, but now they were clear, deep, dark, guileless blue. He could
not resist. The very nearness of the woman was like a gentle, cool hand
caressing his forehead and rubbing away the troubles.
"It was like this," he began. "Me and Lizzie had been thick for a couple
of years and was jest waitin' till I'd corralled enough cash for a
start. Then the other day along comes this feller Bard with a queer way
of talkin' school language. Made you feel like you was readin' a bit out
of a dictionary jest to listen to him for a minute. Liz, she never
heard nothin' like it, I figure.
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