n, for the time being, in charge of
her sister and Miss Jean. Before the first waltz ended I caught sight
of all three of the ladies mingling in the dance. It was a source of no
small satisfaction to me to see my two best friends, Deweese and Gallup,
dancing with the married sisters, while Miss Jean was giving her whole
attention to her partner, Tony Hunter. With the entire Las Palomas crowd
pulling strings in my interest, and Father, in the absence of Oxenford,
becoming extremely gracious, I grew bold and threw out my chest like the
brisket on a beef steer.

I permitted no one to separate me from Esther. We started the second
dance together, but no sooner did I see her sister, Mrs. Martin, whirl
by us in the polka with Dan Happersett, than I suggested that we drop
out and take a stroll. She consented, and we were soon out of sight,
wandering in a labyrinth of lover's lanes which abounded throughout this
live-oak grove. On reaching the outskirts of the picnic grounds, we came
to an extensive opening in which our saddle horses were picketed. At
a glance Esther recognized Wolf, the horse I had ridden the Christmas
before when passing their ranch. Being a favorite saddle horse of the
old ranchero, he was reserved for special occasions, and Uncle Lance had
ridden him down to Shepherd's on this holiday. Like a bird freed from a
cage, the ranch girl took to the horses and insisted on a little ride.
Since her proposal alone prevented my making a similar suggestion,
I allowed myself to be won over, but came near getting caught in
protesting. "But you told me at the ranch that Wolf was one of ten in
your Las Palomas mount," she poutingly protested.

"He is," I insisted, "but I have loaned him to Uncle Lance for the day."

"Throw the saddle on him then--I'll tell Mr. Lovelace when we return
that I borrowed his horse when he wasn't looking."

Had she killed the horse, I felt sure that the apology would have been
accepted; so, throwing saddles on the black and my own mount, we were
soon scampering down the river. The inconvenience of a man's saddle, or
the total absence of any, was a negligible incident to this daughter of
the plains. A mile down the river, we halted and watered the horses.
Then, crossing the stream, we spent about an hour circling slowly about
on the surrounding uplands, never being over a mile from the picnic
grounds. It was late for the first flora of the season, but there was
still an abundance of blue bonne