goblets and setting them down with a crash.
Clark Stannard felt sudden heady exaltation as he set down the goblet for the second time. The wine sang in his veins and suddenly life seemed wild, sweet, thrilling. It was good to have done with the old and outworn things of the world he had known, to sit here with this company in feast.
They were a good crowd, he thought warmly, as he drained the goblet again. They were making his men welcome, for now Mike Shinn was standing up and bellowing an Irish song, and they were laughing and applauding. Morrow was drinking heavily, silently, and the lank Texan had his arm around the girl next to him, and only Blacky Cain's dark, predatory face still remained watchful as the gangster sat there. What the deuce was Blacky so watchful about?—everyone here was their friend.
Thargo's powerful face had a smile of complete friendliness on it. Damned good scout, Thargo—by heaven, he and his men would help Thargo conquer those superstitious Dordonans! And the girl Yala swaying languorously closer to him, perfumed white shoulders and breasts rising out of her red chiton like a great lily, brooding sweetness of her black eyes making Clark's swimming senses reel!
"Are many men of the outer world as hard and handsome of face as you, lord from outside?" she whispered.
"That may be," Clark laughed, "but of this I'm sure—no women of that outer world are as beautiful as you, princess."
Her eyes were melting as she swayed closer, and slender satin fingers touched and twined about his in electrical contact.
Then as he bent unsteadily toward Yala, Clark just glimpsed an upward, meaning flash of her dark eyes, directed at Thargo. It chilled instantly through the winy haze around Clark's brain.
Danger here! shouted an alarmed voice inside him. He realized suddenly how near he was to intoxication. That wine—he'd already tossed off three or four goblets of it. And Yala was proffering him another beaker of the black stuff, with a soft smile.
"Wine brings gracious compliments from you, lord from outside. I would hear more—so drink."
Clark took the goblet. But now his half-hazy brain raced. Yala was trying to get him drunk, that was certain, and from the glance he had intercepted, he knew it was at Thargo's orders.
Nevertheless he took the goblet. But as he raised it, Clark feigned a far greater dazedness than he felt, letting his gaze wander dully, making his tongue thick when he spoke.
"Shouldn't drink any more," he muttered thickly to the leaning princess. "Doesn't take much—to knock me out."
"But you do not wish, surely, to deprive me of further compliments?" Yala's red, ripe mouth pouted bewitchingly.
Clark laughed unsteadily, though inwardly he was cold and alert. "Never—never say no to a lady. Here's to your eyes!"
He drained the goblet. The heady wine made his half-numbed senses spin, but he resolutely kept his head. Yet he feigned now a complete intoxication, hurled the glass away with a drunken laugh.
"Yala, I could give you compliments all night," he said maudlinly. "You're most—most beautiful woman—ever lived."
As his eyelids pretended to droop, Clark caught again that significant glance from the girl to her brother. Then she was leaning, her warm breath whispering in his ears.
"Would you rather tell me those
