No need to wonder why she had been named
Beauty.
"Yes, together," replied Neale, in swift steadiness. "You've started
bad. But you're young. It's never too late. With this money you can
buy a ranch--begin all over again."
"Pard, haven't you seen too much red liquor?" drawled Larry.
The girl shook her head. "Too late!" she said, softly.
"Why?"
"Larry is bad, but he's honest. I'm both bad and dishonest."
"Ruby, I wouldn't call you dishonest," returned Neale, bluntly.
"Bad--yes. And wild! But if you had a chance?"
"No," she said.
"You're both slated for hell. What's the sense of it?"
"I don't see that you're slated for heaven," retorted Ruby.
"Wal, I shore say echo," drawled Larry, as he rolled a cigarette.
"Pard, you're drunk this heah minnit."
"I'm not drunk. I appeal to you, Miss Stanton," protested Neale.
"You certainly are not drunk," she replied. "You're just--"
"Crazy," interrupted Ruby.
They laughed.
"Maybe I do have queer impulses," replied Neale, as he felt his face
grow white. "Every once in a while I see a flash--of--of I don't
know what. _I_ could do something big--even--now--if my heart wasn't
dead."
"Mine's in its grave," said Ruby, bitterly. "Come, Stanton, let's
get out of this. Find me men who talk of drink and women.
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