There was about her a white radiance that kept the dancers back, and in
her eyes something of Mary's look, as she turned from Calvary. The dancers
still kept the position of the figures, the men with their arms about
their partners' waists, the women stepping forward; they were like the
painted figures of dancers in a fresco. And among them stood Judith,
waiting to play her part, waiting to show her world that she could dance
and be merry because all was well with her and hers. But the bronzed sons
of the saddle hung back, they who a day before would have quarrelled for
the honor of a dance. They were afraid of her; it would be like dancing
with the death angel. She looked from face to face. Surely some one would
ask her to dance, and her eyes fell on Henderson, returning from the
bottled courage in the bunk-room. Some word was due from him to explain
his terror of a moment ago.

"Oh, Miss Judith, I thought you was a ghost when I seen you at the
window."

"A ghost that's ready to dance." She held out her hand to him. In her
gesture there was something of royal command, and Henderson, reading the
meaning in her eyes, stepped forward. Her face, almost a perfect replica
of the dead man's, looked at him.

"I bring you greeting from my brother," she said. "He has gone on a long
journey."

Henderson started. Through the still room ran the murmur, "Rodney's
outwitted them; he's played a joke on the rope!" And Judith, his
dare-devil sister, had come with his greetings to Henderson, leader of the
faction against him! The tide had turned. The applause that is ever the
meed of the winner was hers to command. The cattle faction were ready to
sing the praises of her splendid audacity. In their hearts they were glad
in the thought that Jim had outwitted them.

Miguel's bow dashed across the strings, and he drew from the little brown
fiddle music that again made them merry and glowing. The magic came back
to the dance, the blood leaped again with the merry madness, and they
swept to the bowing like leaves when the first faint wail of winter cries
in the trees.

Hamilton, standing apart with Kitty Colebrooke, had been a dazed witness
of the scene. With the rest he had watched the entrance of Judith, had
been stunned by the change in her appearance, had seen her triumph and
heard the rumor of Jim's escape, and his heart had warmed with the good
word. She had probably managed the plan, and had come to-night, in the joy
of her triu