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Show THIRD RICHEST GIRL CORNER By Richard H. Wilkinson 1 IF IT had happened back in Westchester West-chester or most anywhere in the world except here on the edge of a high mesa at the rim of Death Valley it would have made the front pages of every newspaper in the country. The reading public would have been delighted. This was explainable, for Joan Roberts was the third richest girl in the United I I States, and what- 3 -Minute ever happened to r-i-- her was news. If , F'Ctl0n j the reporters had been on hand that day she had her face slapped, the telegraph wires would have hummed. hum-med. If they had known that the man who slapped her face was a cowhand, editorial offices would have been thrown into a shambles. Joan Roberts and Lanky Andrews, who was the cowboy, had ridden away from the Wagon Wheel ranch that afternoon with the idea of watching the sunset from the rim of Howling Coyote Mesa. This was not the first time they had ridden off alone together. At first Joan thought Lanky's attitude of deference was a pose, but later she decided he was acting quite natural. The discovery delighted her. Casually she had observed Lanky Andrews without appearing appear-ing to do so. She registered the fact that he was a good deal more handsome than you noticed no-ticed at first glance. Nothing about his manner or what he said was affected. Lanky Andrews kissed Joan as effectively as she had ever been kissed. Casually, too, she made inquiries about him and learned, to her astonishment, that he owned a Harvard diploma and a small cattle cat-tle ranch down on the Mojave. Her frequent trips into the des-3rt des-3rt with Lanky, coupled with the knowledge she had acquired gave Joan, so to speak, a new lease on life. Up to now her general outlook out-look was bitter. She trusted no one. She hated people who posed. Lanky Andrews, without knowing it, gradually changed all that. SO Joan prolonged her visit and demanded Lanky's services more and more. She tried to be nice to him, tried to give the impression im-pression that she appreciated what he was doing for her. But Lanky remained the same. He was a good dude wrangler. He was dependable, kind, thoughtful, courteous, but never personal. That is, he was never personal until the evening they stood on the edge of Howling Coyote Mesa and watched the sun ease down into the desert. Without turning her head Joan said: "It's lovely!" And Lanky Andrews, unexpectedly and without warning, turned to her and said: "That sunset's a washout compared to you." And he kissed her as effectively as Joan had ever been kissed. NOW LANKY was acting like the men Joan knew and understood. un-derstood. She acted on impulse. She slapped his face. "Why you " he began anj slapped her face, a resounding crack. Joan stared at him, mouth open, cheeks white. "How dare you!" "By the same right you dare to slap me," Lanky said easily. "You you apparently, Mr. Andrews, An-drews, you don't know who I am. I'm the third richest girl in the United States!" "So what? I'm the best dude wrangler anywhere around. I'm just as human as you. Just because you've got more dough than 1 doesn't give you any more rights or make me any less feeling." "Why, you you." "Well, what? Can't you think oi anything to say? Of course you can't. Time you learned a few things." This time Joan didn't say anything. any-thing. She merely gaped at him She was conscious of only one thought, one feeling, one fear: He might not kiss her again. But he did, and the newspapers had to be satisfied with the result They were never told about the faceslapping episode, but the storj of subsequent events was plenty tc make lovely big black headlines |