er corner was a smaller table on which was a graphophone; a rocker
and several chairs were set about the room and against the north wall;
between two doors, evidently opening into twin bedrooms, was an upright
grand piano--.

"Oh, a piano!" Carolyn June exclaimed delightedly noticing the
instrument. "Who plays?"

"Nobody," Old Heck answered foolishly, "I--I--well, what's the use of
lying?--I bought it one day, before prohibition come, when I was drunk
and just had it brought out because I didn't know what else to do with
it--"

"You funny old uncle!" Carolyn June laughed, "I love you
already.--Ophelia plays," she added.

"Not so well or so much as Carolyn June," Ophelia said.

"Maybe we'll have some music then some day; that ain't canned," Skinny
suggested eagerly.

"You women can use them rooms," Old Heck said, referring to the doors on
each side of the piano. "Parker and me did have them but we've arranged
to sleep in the bunk-house while you are here."

"Carolyn June and I need but one," Ophelia said, "it isn't fair to run
you out--"

"You ain't running us," Old Heck answered, "we've talked it over and
would rather."

After dinner Ophelia and Carolyn June spent their time in settling
themselves in their rooms. A small bath closet connected the two--crude
a bit and somewhat unfinished; but a hot tub, the water supplied from a
tank at the kitchen range, was enjoyed by both.

Old Heck and Skinny helped with the trunks and then withdrew to the
bunk-house.

Old Heck shaved and Skinny put on a clean shirt.

Skinny was not sure but this official love-making job was going to be
interesting work and Old Heck himself was uncertain whether to cuss or
rejoice--sometimes he was almost sorry to-morrow would be Parker's day
to love and entertain Ophelia.

CHAPTER IV

THE UNUSED PLATE

At sundown, when Parker and the cowboys rode in from the northern hills,
the Quarter Circle KT lay under a mantle of sullen, torturing heat. Not
a breath of air fanned the poplars, straight and motionless, in front of
the house. The sun buried itself in a solid wall of black that rose
above the Costejo peaks, hidden now in the shadow of the coming storm.
The horses were dripping with sweat--their coats as glossy and wet as if
they had swum the river. At the corral the animals wearily tossed their
heads, low hung with exhaustion, seeking to shift the sticky clutch of
head-stall or hackamore, while their riders dismounted an