he creation of the world. That will be something to boast of when we
get home. Come, let's dedicate the Great American Desert to
Terpsichore."

They stepped out from among the ruins of their sagebrush booth upon a
patch of hard bare earth close to the railroad track. Lombard puckered
his lips and struck up the air, and off they went with as much
enthusiasm as if inspired by a first-class orchestra. Round and round,
to and fro, they swept until, laughing, flushed and panting, they came
to a stop.

It was then that they first perceived that they were not without a
circle of appreciative spectators. Sitting like statues on their
sniffing, pawing ponies, a dozen Piute Indians encircled them. Engrossed
with the dance and with each other, they had not noticed them as they
rode up, attracted from their route by this marvellous spectacle of a
pale-face squaw and brave engaged in a solitary war-dance in the midst
of the desert.

At sight of the grim circle of centaurs around them Miss Dwyer would
have fainted but for Lombard's firm hold.

"Pretend not to see them: keep on dancing," he hissed in her ear. He had
no distinct plan in what he said, but spoke merely from an instinct of
self-preservation, which told him that when they stopped the Indians
would be upon them. But as she mechanically, and really more dead than
alive, obeyed his direction and resumed the dance, and he in his
excitement was treading on her feet at every step, the thought flashed
upon him that there was a bare chance of escaping violence if they could
keep the Indians interested without appearing to notice their presence.
In successive whispers he communicated his idea to Miss Dwyer: "Don't
act as if you saw them at all, but do everything as if we were alone.
That will puzzle them, and may make them think us supernatural beings,
or perhaps crazy: Indians have great respect for crazy people. It's our
only chance. We will stop dancing now, and sing a while. Give them a
burlesque of opera. I'll give you the cues and show you how. Don't be
frightened. I don't believe they'll touch us so long as we act as if we
didn't see them. Do you understand? Can you do your part?"

"I understand: I'll try," she whispered.

"Now," he said, and as they separated he threw his hat on the ground,
and, assuming an extravagantly languishing attitude, burst forth in a
most poignant burlesque of a lovelorn tenor's part, rolling his eyes,
clasping his hands, striking his breast