n the room, cried
"Caw! caw!" in excellent imitation of the sable-hued fowl thereby
typified, and the dancers, conscious of an admiring public, "swung" and
"sashayed" with increased vehemence. Toward three o'clock Joe was again
dancing with Quinn's Aggy, and as the caller-out chanted:

"Swing that girl, that _pretty_ little girl,
That _girl_ you left _behind you_!"

he advanced toward her with an air of mock gallantry. At the same moment
Bub Quinn stalked into the middle of the set, a sombrero planted firmly
on his head, a long cowhide whip in his hand. He seized Aggy by the arm
with a grip that must have hurt her, and said, "I'm going home now; you
can do as you d---- please." A pistol-shot could not have made half the
sensation caused by this breach of etiquette; indeed, it would not have
been half so unprecedented. Aggy turned with a startled defiance, but at
sight of Quinn's face she recoiled.

"I'm all ready to go," she said sullenly; and too thoroughly cowed to
cast even a parting glance at Joe, she hurried away to get ready for her
twenty-mile drive. Joe, meanwhile, with perfect composure, provided
himself with another partner, and the dance went on. And so the
thunder-cloud had withdrawn, and the bolt had not fallen.

It was not until the gray dawn was in the sky that the last of the
revellers drove through the cow-yard, and out across the prairie to meet
the rising sun.

* * * * *

By the time a second dawn had come the daily routine at the Keith ranch
was running in its accustomed grooves. The cows had already been milked,
yesterday's butter already packed for shipment, and Joe, surrounded by
bustling men and barking dogs, was attending to the departure of the
milk-carts for the town. The Keith brothers had a young but thriving
dairy-trade, and Joe was a great success in his character of "boss."

In a field bordering upon the highway, a mile away from the ranch-house,
Lem Keith was plowing. There was something about this pastoral labor
which was peculiarly congenial to Lem; perhaps because he did it well.
Not one of the ranch "hands" could guide the plow with such precision
through the loose prairie soil. Certainly, very few of them would have
taken the trouble to set up a stake at the end of the furrow with a
flying bit of red flannel to steer by. Lem had the habit of plowing with
his eyes fixed upon the stake, his shoulders slightly stooping. Yet the
sense of wh