“For that little episode on the train I ask no reward, madam,” said I.
“Of course not.” Her tone waxed impatient. “However, you’re a stranger in Benton and strangers do not always fare well.” In this she spoke the truth. “As a resident I claim the honors. Let us be old acquaintances. Shall we walk? Or would you rather dance?”
“I’d cut a sorry figure dancing in boots,” said I. “Therefore I’d really prefer to walk, if all the same to you.”
“Thank you for having mercy on my poor feet. Walk we will.”
“May I get you some refreshment?” I hazarded. “A lemonade—or something stronger?”
“Not for you, sir; not again,” she laughed. “You are, as Jim would say, ’fortified.’ And I shall need all my wits to keep you from being tolled away by greater attractions.”
With that, she accepted my arm. We promenaded, Jim sauntering near. And as she emphatically was the superior of all other women upon the floor I did not fail to dilate with the distinction accorded me: felt it in the glances, the deference and the ready make-way which attended upon our progress. 113 Frankly to say, possibly I strutted—as a young man will when “fortified” within and without and elevated from the station of nondescript stranger to that of favored beau.
Whereas an hour before I had been crushed and beggarly, now I turned out my toes and stepped bravely—my twenty-one dollars in pocket, my six-shooter at belt, a red ’kerchief at throat, the queen of the hall on my arm, and my trunk all unnecessary to my well-being.
Thus in easy fashion we moved amidst eyes and salutations from the various degrees of the company. She made no mention of any husband, which might have been odd in the East but did not impress me as especially odd here in the democratic Far West. The women appeared to have an independence of action.
“Shall we risk a play or two?” she proposed. “Are you acquainted with three-card monte?”