He could not realize as he paused there, studying her with half a frown, rebellious hair tousled on his head, and a somber flare of emotion in the deep wells of his eyes, that he was the exact and unchanged picture of the man she had carried with her for three years; nor could he know that his blunt, "Here I am, Lola," was the exact phrase she felt David Denver would greet her with. But he did know that the old-time belle of the Palace had become a mature beauty. She stood in the center of the room, fine lacework clinging to her breast, jet hair tied severely back, and her lips pursed upon a smile or a cry. A mature beauty, yet still the same vital Lola Monterey, still with a queer, unfathomed glow in those eyes dusted with velvet coloring. She tipped her chin, laughed softly, and then caught her lip between her teeth.
"Here you are, David. You were scowling when I went away. You are scowling now. Is that all you have for me?"
"I suppose other men have told you that you're beautiful, Lola?"
"I suppose. But I have never listened to men as I listen to you. You know that."
"Then I'll say it. Something's rounded you out. There's something inside that body of yours—"
"Misery, maybe. They say it is good for people." She came over to him, brushed her finger tips across her own mouth and placed them on Denver's cheeks. "From me to you. That is my welcome—as I think you know it would always be. I have heard a thousand gallant speeches from men whose gallantry I doubted. It is good to know one man I never have to doubt—and wouldn't doubt even if I had reason. Come, sit down." She put an arm through his elbow and led him to a chair, then crossed and sat facing him.
"You have not changed," she went on swiftly. "And I'm glad—and sorry."
His face cleared and a piece of a smile came to his eyes. "That sounds just like you."
"Well, isn't it nice to come home and find the same landmarks? That makes me happy. But you are still stormy, still unhappy, still savage with yourself. That makes me sad."
"Let's talk about you for a change, Lola."
She shook her slim head so vigorously that the jade earrings danced against the satin of her skin. "Let other men talk about me. You and I—we will talk about you. You know about me—all about me. There is nothing to add for these three years. I am still that hungry little girl of the Palace whose body never grew up to her temper. You have prospered, David?"
"The ranch has grown," he admitted.
"You have a big ranch house now, facing down Starlight Canyon—and you sit on the porch at night and look across the prairie, alone."
"Who told you that?" demanded Denver.
"I made Cal Steele tell me everything that had happened to you in three years. I know about that scar on your cheek, I know about the arm you broke, the battles you have fought. So I have the history of David Denver, cattleman, gentleman. From poor Cal, who wanted to talk of himself and me."
"Cal," said Denver, "is the best friend I ever hope to have. He's in love with you, Lola. You couldn't find a better man—"
Her swift smile interrupted him. "You will not get rid of me that easy, David!"
Suddenly the old temper returned to him. His big hands closed. "Why did you run away, Lola?"
The answer came swift and straight. "Because I loved you too much!"
"Then why in God's name have you returned?"
"Because," said she just above a whisper, "because I loved you too much."
"We were better off apart. All the struggle and misery—"
Instantly she was fire and flame. "Don't I know? You were born to hurt me. You always will. And I will always try to find a smile in your unhappy eyes! Always, even when you have cut my pride to pieces! I am just a beggar, asking for something I think I never will get! Lola Monterey doing that! David, my dear, there's no woman born who will ever be able to hold you. No woman will ever be able to smooth away that sadness and bitterness. But—"
She caught her breath and watched him. He said nothing; only looked steadily back to her.
"—but I have been able to make you forget yourself and think of me, just for little spells of time. I can lift you to me, make you smile. That is enough for me—it is more than another woman has done. You see—I still hope."
He rose, speaking gently. "I reckon I'd cut off my arm rather than hear you say that. You've got beyond Sundown now, Lola. Tonight you'll play for us. Tomorrow you'll be gone. And that will be the end, for us. I'll not be seeing you again. I remember Lola Monterey of the Palace, and I don't think I want to see Lola Monterey of—"
"You will be there tonight, David," she broke in softly. "I know you better."
"If so, I'll not be near enough to say goodbye. So I'll say it now."
But she shook her head. "No. Tonight I sing. Tomorrow the company goes on without me. I am staying here, David. I have thought about it for a year. It is arranged. I think I might go higher still in my work. I love it. But I love something else better, and so Sundown is home for me again."
"You are making a mistake."
She came toward the door and touched his arm with the tip of her fingers. "I am always making them, David. I always will. Didn't I say I was a beggar? Beggars cannot be choosers. When I am hurt, which is so often, I must smile and think that I came from nothing and should be glad. Who wants to see Lola Monterey crying? But I often wonder what happiness is like. Perhaps some day I shall know, perhaps not. Now go along. And, tonight, when you hear me sing, remember that I sing to you."
The gentle pressure of her fingers put him in the hall. He had a glimpse of her velvet eyes, round and shining, and then the door closed, and he walked heavily down the stairs to the street. Somebody spoke to him. Colonel Fear Langdell dropped in step, talking crisply. "Let's get the ball rolling. I have been waiting around for you. Expect you to influence a great many of the weak hearted, Dave. In fact, I expect you to take the leadership in a disagreeable chore. Men will ride for you who wouldn't ride for anybody else."
The two passed into the opera house, and thus engaged Denver failed to see Eve Leverage pass in a rig driven by Joe Peake. But Eve had seen him come out of the hotel just as she had seen him go in previously. And she knew where he had spent the intervening minutes. Sitting very straight and sober beside Peake, she stared bleakly across the sloping hills, saying to herself over and over again, "That old story about them is true. It is true, all of it. But what difference does it make? I don't care—I don't care! I can't find fault with David!"
There were about sixty men in the opera house, part of them owners, part of them foremen, and a few belonging to the more responsible trading element of Sundown. Niland and Steele and Steers were sitting together, and as Denver took a seat beside them Niland bent a rather ironic glance at him. "The vested interests of this county," he whispered cynically, "are on their ears. Bet you ten dollars Langdell mentions the