and she wanted to appear at her best.
Yes, her khaki blouse and skirt were clean and her hair fairly tidy. Her
new red tie, she told herself, was quite decidedly jaunty. She blessed
that tie, for had it not been for Donald Keith's kindness in bringing the
package to her from the town post-office four days ago, she would neither
have known about the girls, nor have had the opportunity of inviting them
to come to see her. Of course, they were from the East--all except
Virginia Hunter, of whom she had heard so much, and she was a Wyoming
homesteader; but, she told herself, that need make no difference. In fact,
it made everything much more interesting, for she could learn many things
from them, and perhaps--perhaps, they might learn a little bit from her.

Still singing, she hurried to the end of the porch, and looked toward the
north. Four specks were distinctly visible on the edge of the mesa. Even
as she looked they became larger. They were horses coming toward her
cabin, and they bore her guests. She whistled loudly to Robert Bruce, who
obediently ceased his browsing and came toward her. A quick run to the
creek-refrigerator to see that her butter and cream were safe in the
clear, cold water, and then back to Robert; a leap into the saddle and she
was off to meet her guests.

Introductions are stilted, unlovely things between horseback riders on a
sagebrush-covered mesa under a blue August sky. There were none this
morning. Jean MacDonald reined in the restive Robert Bruce as she drew
near her guests, and unceremoniously greeted them all.

"I know every one of you," she said brightly, her dark blue eyes searching
their faces--"Mary Williams and Priscilla Winthrop and Vivian Winters--all
of you. And I've known you even longer, Virginia. Donald Keith told me all
about you a month ago when they helped break my land. I'm so glad you're
coming to spend the day with me. You're the very first guests I've ever
had on my homestead!"

They were glad, too, they told her, liking her at once, and feeling
perfectly at ease. She rode beside Virginia, talking of Donald, the other
Keiths who had been so good to her, and her neighbors in the southeast
corner of the mesa. Virginia, too, talked freely, asking questions,
telling of their recent bear hunt, joining in Jean's admiration of the
Keiths. To the three New Englanders, who rode a little behind them, this
new comradeship, though a little startling to their inherent
conservatism,