Argosy, Vol. 117, No. 2 — page 14: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

164 —I seen a gent over to Tuskogee.... My dance, Blondy. ... Red seven! Show that card! By God, I say you will. ... Say, boys, I’m some dry; where’s the water-hole; lead me to it, I can’t see!” Dix Van Dyck sauntered to the bar. On his lips the mischievous, boyish smile which all Guadalupe knew and feared was growing. In his quiet moments that eagle nose, straight, thin mouth, and forbidding eyes made him seem a man to be avoided and given ground, but his smile gave an ex- pression of deluding gentleness to his fea- tures. Strangers, seeing him smile, were apt to invite him to a drink or ask him for a five-spot with equal readiness. But those who knew understood that that smile meant a deep desire for action. It was like the grin of the pugilist who stands in his corner rubbing his shoes in the rosin and waiting confidently for the bell. First he examined the dancing floor, chiefly because the men were in movement there. But the monotonous whine of the violin and the regular movements of the dancers through the mist of smoke dis- gusted him. One of the dance-hall girls saw his smile and stopped before him, expec- tant; but his face sobered long enough to return her glance, and she went on hastily, answered. Then he looked down the bar. Whisky itself had no charms for him, but he sometimes drank merely for excitement —a token, in Guadalupe, for men to vacate the barroom in which this grizzly happened to be quenching his thirst. The bar to-night, however, had no at- traction for him. A drunken man staggered past him; he followed the uncertain progress with contempt. Next he looked to the gaming tables. They were operating under full blast, the gamesters stimulated by the dance-music on one hand and the high-power whisky on the other. ~ Crap tables, roulette, chuck- a-luck, faro-poker—every table had a full house, and Dix Van Dyck waited for an opening. It was during this delay that he saw her enter, and turned full toward her to look again. Obviously she was not one of the hired dancing-girls. Neither had she come to buy whisky—a common occurrence. THE ARGOSY. She loitered in the door carelessly, as he had done the moment before, apparently looking for a place in which she could amuse herself. Booted, spurred, and with a regulation forty-five belted around her waist, her ap- pearance was not much out of keeping with that of the average ranch girl. What dis- tinguished her was, in the first place an exquisitely slender, olive-skinned, dark-eyed beauty, and in the second place an air of truly masculine detachment. On account of her beauty Dix Van Dyck looked to see a dozen men jump up and accost her; but instead they merely turned their heads, stared at her, and then re- sumed their occupations. He was thoroughly puzzled. Apparently she was known; apparently she was good. But if so, what was she doing in this hell- hole? Now it must be understood that in the Southwest there are only two classes of women. ‘There are the bad and the good. The bad are what bad women are every- where—very, very bad. On the other hand, the good are exceedingly good. They can travel alone anywhere, day or night, and as long as there are no Mexicans in sight they are perfectly safe. And unless he is conveniently close to the border even a Mexican keeps clear of a white girl as he would of a rattler. For he knows that vengeance in such cases follows quickly and surely. In a country where the need for men is great and where the place for women is small, their value is proportionately high. In that country men do not gossip about a woman, for slander meets the reply of bul- lets. In that country a woman can take liberties with a man which would damn her forever in the eyes of Northern society, but in the Southwest nothing is taken for granted about the weaker sex. Chivalry wears no plumes and knight- hood bears no title, but there gallantry is a reality and not a name. To the South- westerner a good woman is daughter or sis- ter or mother. his horse, draw his revolver, and even share his bunk. Yet she will not draw a whisper of suspi- CORMICLOO© C S She can eat his food, ride . (C@