show how anxious he was about your cows. Then
the two Willow Creek riders that wanted a job punching for y'u, not to
mention mention the Shoshone miner and the storekeeper from Gimlet Butte
and Soapy Sothern and--"

"Still I don't quite see the joke."

"It ain't any joke with them. Serious business, ma'am."

"What happened to start you on this line?"

"The lad riding down the road on that piebald pinto. He come twenty
miles out of his way, plumb dressed for a wedding, all to give me an
invite to a dance at Fraser's. Y'u would call that real thoughtful of
him, I expect."

She gayly sparkled. "A real ranch dance--the kind you have been telling
me about. Are Ida and I invited?"

"Invited? Slim hinted at a lynching if I came without y'u."

She laughed softly, merry eyes flashing swiftly at him. "How gallant you
Westerners are, even though you do turn it into burlesque."

His young laugh echoed hers. "Burlesque nothing. My life wouldn't be
worth a thing if I went alone. Honest, I wouldn't dare."

"Since the ranch can't afford to lose its foreman Ida and I will go
along," she promised. "That is, if it is considered proper here."

"Proper. Good gracious, ma'am! Every lady for thirty miles round will be
there, from six months old to eighty odd years. It wouldn't be PROPER to
stay at home."

The foreman drove her to Fraser's in a surrey with Ida Henderson and one
of the Lazy D punchers on the back seat. The drive was over twenty-five
miles, but in that silent starry night every mile was a delight. Part of
the way led through a beautiful canon, along the rocky mountain road of
which the young man guided the rig with unerring skill. Beyond the gorge
the country debouched into a grassy park that fell away from their feet
for miles. It was in this basin that the Fraser ranch lay.

The strains of the fiddle and the thumping of feet could be heard as
they drove up. Already the rooms seemed to be pretty well filled, as
Helen noticed when they entered. Three sets were on the floor for a
quadrille and the house shook with the energy of the dancers. On benches
against the walls were seated the spectators, and on one of them stood
Texas calling the dance.

"Alemane left. Right hand t'yer pardner and grand right and left.
Ev-v-rybody swing," chanted the caller.

A dozen rough young fellows were clustered near the front door,
apparently afraid to venture farther lest their escape be cut off.
Through these McWilliams pushed a