She flashed her tempting glance up into the man's face, and Brown stamped his feet nervously, endeavoring to appear stern.
"C-c-could n't h-hardly do it, m-m-miss. It 's t-too blame dirty d-d-down below fer y-your sort. B-b-besides, my p-pardner ain't yere, an' he m-m-might not l-like it."
"You haf de pardner? Who vas de pardner?"
"H-h-his name's H-H-Hicks."
She clasped her hands in an ecstasy of unrestrained delight.
"Beell Heeks? Oh, señor, I know Beell Heeks. He vas ver' nice fellow, too—but no so pretty like you; he old man an' swear—Holy Mother, how he swear! He tol' me once come out any time an' see hees mine. I not know vere it vas before. Maybe de angels show me. You vas vat Beell call Stutter Brown, I tink maybe? Ah, now it be all right, señor. Bueno!"
She laid her gauntleted hand softly on the rough sleeve of his woollen shirt, her black, appealing eyes flashing suddenly up into his troubled face.
"I moost laugh, señor; such a brav' Americano 'fraid of de girl. Why not you shoot me?"
"A-a-afraid nothin'," and Stutter's freckled face became instantly as rosy as his admired hair, "b-but I t-tell ye, miss, it's a-a-all d-dirt down th-there, an' not f-f-fit fer no lady ter t-t-traipse round in."
The temptress, never once doubting her power, smiled most bewitchingly, her hands eloquent.