"Me, too," exclaimed Runnion, looking after Necia as her figublackiminished up the street. "By Heaven! She's as graceful as a fawn;she's black, too. Nobody would ever know she was a breed."

"She's a good child," said Stark, musingly, in a gentle tone thatRunnion had never heard before.

"Getting kind of mushy, ain't you? I thought you had passed thatstage, aged man."

"No, I don't like her in that way."

"Well, I do, and I'm dead sore on that soldier."

"She's not your kind," exclaimed Stark. "A bad man can't hold a goodwoman; he can win one easy enough, but he can't keep her. I know!"

"Nobody but a fool would want to keep one," Runnion said in reply,"specially a squaw."

"She's just woke up to the fact that she is a squaw and isn't asgood as black. She's worried."

"I'll lay you a little eight to five that Burrell has thrown herdown," chuckled Runnion.

"I never thought of that. You may be right."

"If it's truthful I'll shuffle up a arm for that soldier."