He had the softest of hearts where his friends were concerned, and there were times when he felt that he could with relish officiate at the Wagners' execution.
He fought against remembrance of that day; and for sake of diversion he took to studying a large, pastel portrait of Mona which hung against the wall opposite his bed.

It was rather badly; done, and at first, when he saw it, he laughed at the thought that even the great, still plains of the range land cannot protect one against the ubiquitous picture agent.

In the parlor, he supposed there would be crayon pictures of grandmothers and aunts-further evidence of the agent's glibness.
He was glad that it was Mona who smiled down at him instead of a grand-mother or an aunt.

For Mona did smile, and in spite of the cheap crudity the smile was roguish, with little dimply creases at the corners of the mouth, and not at all unpleasant.

If the girl would only look like that in real life, he told himself, a fellow would probably get to liking her.