"Pierre!" she called again. "I've come to thank you."
He jumped up and turned toward the hall.
"Do you like it?"
"It's a wonder!"
"Then we're friends?"
"If you want to be."
"There's nothing I want more. Then you'll come out and have supper
with us, Jack?"
There was a little pause, and then Jim Boone struck his fist on the
table and cursed, for she stepped from the darkness into the flaring
light of the room.
CHAPTER 13
She wore a cartridge-belt slung jauntily across her hips and from it
hung a holster of stiff new leather with the top flap open to show the
butt of a man-sized forty-five caliber six-shooter--her first gun. Not
a man of the gang but had loaned her his guns time and again, but they
had never dreamed of giving her a weapon of her own.
So they stared at her agape, where she stood with her head back, one
hand resting on her hip, one hovering about the butt of the gun, as if
she challenged them to question her right to be called "man."
It was as if she abandoned all claims to femininity with that single
step; the gun at her side made her seem inches taller and years older.
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