In the corner remote from the street Mr. Boone was established, his legs embracing the legs of a chair, and he placidly dealt cards to an imaginary player. The sheriff and I were in the left foreground, close enough to the window to see through it, had a curtain not been discreetly drawn to the height of a grown man's head.
Tilly entered from the dining-room, patting her hair with both hands, and tarried for an instant at the bar, talking to the man behind it. She waited on table in the Fashion annex, and was not without charm, both of person and mind. Indeed, her repartee would set a room to laughing, being forceful as a clout on the head; which may have been why she was sought after by sundry residents of those parts for wife. Whence she came or why, nobody knew. Badger held her for an honest girl, in spite of what Tilly's unchampioned contact with the world had done to rub off the first blush. Leaving the bartender choking with delight, Tilly sauntered over to Jeff's table, where she pretended to examine the snake-skin band of his hat. We saw her speak to him, but could not catch the words. He glanced up alertly and gave an emphatic nod.
"Well, well," murmured the sheriff, and smiled. When she had gone back to the dining-room—pausing to exchange a last cheerful sally with her friend of the bottles—the sheriff said: "Dan, there's a mighty fine girl. Or I reckon I ought to say 'woman.' If she'd only got a different start—"
"What about it?"
"You can see for yourself. She's getting tougher in her talk every day. If Tilly don't hitch up soon—why, look at the way these fellers are running after her—"
"But," I said, for I had faith in Tilly, "they're all crazy about her. Don't you fret. That girl's the gamest girl I ever saw, Lafe. She can take care of herself. Sure they run after her. They all want to marry her."
"Some of 'em do—yes—but—" he broke off and considered for a moment. "Did I ever tell you how Bud Walton run it over that big Slim Terry? He done run him out of town. Slim was awful stuck on Tilly, too."
"What did Tilly do?"
"What could she do? She wouldn't believe it first when Bud told her. Then she swore most dreadful. She slapped Bud's face, too—a little later, this was."
A boy shoved his head inside the saloon and peered all about. It was Turner's youngest son, an urchin of about twelve years.