he handsome hat
which, as he turned to his partner for the dance, he sent spinning
toward a table beside the piano, the soft brown shirt and flowing tie,
down to the small, high-heeled and spurred boots, he wore the
distinctive cowboy rig of the mountains, even to the heavy
hip-holster, in which his revolver was slung. He was, in fact, rather
too smartly dressed, too confident in manner to please de Spain, who
was in no mood to be pleased anyway, and who could conceive a dislike
for a man the instant he set eyes on him--and a liking as quickly. He
seemed to recall, too, that this particular fellow had crowed the
loudest when he himself forfeited the shooting-match earlier in the
day.

But de Spain, unamiable as he now was, looked with unconcealed
interest at the man's dancing partner. She, too, was browned by the
mountain sun and air--a slight, erect girl, her head well set, and a
delicate waist-line above a belted brown skirt, which just reached the
tops of her small, high, tan riding-boots. She wore a soft,
French-gray Stetson hat. Her dark-brown hair was deftly hidden under
it, but troublesome ringlets strayed about her ears as if she had not
seen a glass for hours, and these, standing first with one hand and
then the other laid against her leather belt, she put up into place,
and as if not wholly at ease with her surroundings. Instead of looking
at her partner, who talked to her while waiting, her eyes, noticeably
pretty, wandered about the platform, resting at moments on the closely
drawn lines of spectators. They reflected in their unrest the
dissatisfied expression of her face. A talkative woman standing just
in front of de Spain, told a companion that the man was Gale Morgan, a
nephew of Satterlee, laziest of the Morgans. De Spain, who never had
to look twice at any woman, at once recognized in the dancing partner
the little Music Mountain girl who had been his undoing at the target;
the woman added that Nan was, in some hazy degree, Gale's cousin.

The energetic piano thumped the strains of a two-step. Gale Morgan
extended his arm toward Nan; she looked very slight at his side. But
instead of taking her position, she drew back, looking up and frowning
as she seemed to speak objectingly to Gale. De Spain saw her
hesitation without catching its import. The talkative woman near at
hand was more divining. "Lord, that Nan Morgan makes me tired," she
exclaimed to her gum-chewing companion, "ever see anything like h