"We're all waiting for you at the table," he explained.
"Just keep on waiting," said the husky voice of Jacqueline.
"If I leave the table will you come out?"
She stammered: "Ye—n-no!"
"Yes or no?"
"No, no, no!"
And he heard the stamp of her foot and smiled a little.
"I've brought you a present."
"I hate your presents!"
"It's a thing you've wanted for a long time, Jacqueline."
Only a stubborn silence.
"I'm putting your door a little ajar."
"If you dare to come in I'll—"
"And I'm leaving the package right here at the entrance. I'm so sorry, Jacqueline, that you hate me."
And then he walked off down the hall—cunning Pierre—before she could send her answer like an arrow after him. At the table he arranged an eighth plate and drew up a chair before it.
"If that's for Jack," remarked Dick Wilbur, "you're wasting your time. I know her and I know her type. She'll never come out to the table to-night—nor to-morrow, either. I know!"
In fact, he knew a good deal too much about girls and women also, did Wilbur, and that was why he rode the long trails of the mountain-desert with Boone and his men. Far south and east in the Ba-
