of all the men, and steady
dancing from eight o'clock to three is no light task. Nevertheless, each
one rose with sufficient alacrity in response to the polite inquiry,
"Will you assist me with this dance?" and in a few minutes the same
many-colored woollen gowns, and much befrizzled heads, which had
diversified the last sets, were lending lustre to the present dance.

Neither Bub Quinn nor Joe Keith was included this time among those
admonished to "get on the floor and dance," and Lem, thankful for the
respite, stepped out on the piazza, where a group of men were lounging
and smoking. The air outside was sharp and invigorating; the moon was
full, and in its cold, clear light the Peak glimmered white and ghostly.

Lem strolled off the piazza, and over to the group of sorry-looking
broncos, in saddle or harness, standing hitched to the fence. He pushed
in among them, patting their heads, or righting the blankets of the few
that were fortunate enough to have such luxuries. He felt as though he
should like to enter into confidential relations with them. They seemed,
somehow, more of his own kind than the rough, jostling, pugnacious
beings passing themselves off as men and brothers within there. He poked
about from one to the other of the sturdy, plush-coated little beasts,
till he came to a great white plow-horse harnessed to a sulky, and
looking like a giant in contrast with the scrubby broncos. The
amiability which is supposed to wait upon generous proportions proved to
be a characteristic of this equine Goliath, for at Lem's approach he
cocked his ears and turned his head with marked friendliness. Lem looked
across the creature's rough neck to the firm, strong outlines of "the
range," showing clearly in the moonlight; he drew his lungs full of the
keen, thin air. But neither "the strength of the hills," nor the elixir
of the air, could restore his equanimity. He could not throw off the
weight that oppressed him. There was no shirking the truth. He was
deadly afraid of Bub Quinn; the sight of that lowering face at the
window had caused in him a horrible physical shrinking; the dread of an
undefined mischief brewing weighed upon his spirit like a nightmare.

"Great heavens! What a coward I am!" he groaned aloud.

The white horse rubbed his velvet nose in mute sympathy against the
young man's shoulder; but there was no solace that the white horse could
give. Lem leaned against the friendly neck, and shut his teeth hard