The Caldwell beauty--it seems she disdains mournin'-- is robed like a rainbow; an' she an' Bloojacket, him standin', she on her bronco, looks each other over plenty intent.
"Which five minutes goes by if one goes by, an' thar the two stares into each other's eyes; an' never a word.

The poker bucks keeps on with their gamble over onder the cottonwood, an' no one looks at the two or seems like they heeds their existence.

The poker savages is onto every move; but they're troo to the Injun idee of p'liteness an' won't interfere with even so much as the treemor of a eyelash with other folks's plays.
"Bloojacket an' the Caldwell beauty is still gazin'.

At last the Caldwell beauty's hand goes back, an' slow an' shore, brings to the front a eight-inch six-shooter.

Bloojacket, with his eye still on her an' never a flicker of feelin', don't speak or move.
"The Caldwell beauty smiles an' shows her white teeth.