“I really must give him the next dance,” Hilda sighed. “But I don’t want to ride home with him—and I suppose I’ll have to.” “Of course you won’t. I’ll see that you don’t. Here he comes now. Well—the dance—if you must.” And he helped her up. From the doorway behind them Fayte’s voice, raised in a curious jeering anger, answered some one there: “I put my gun back on, because I want it on, Billy Grainger. I’m liable to catch cold without it.” He strode through the door. They got the outline of his figure in the light, with the bulge the weapon made under his coat. “Oh—don’t have any trouble with him,” Hilda whispered. “You heard him. He’s armed.” “And I’m not armed,” said Pearse, quite loud enough for Fayte to hear. “There won’t be any trouble, Hilda. Don’t you be scared.” Then to Fayte, himself. “Hilda and I are old friends. She may have told you? Well—I want to be sure of it, because she’s going to give you this dance—I suppose that’s what you came after?—and as a friend of hers I want you to take off that gun you’re packing before she does so.” “I’ll take it off when she asks me to,” Fayte returned, but there was no real defiance in his voice, and when Hilda made the request, he was rather glad to be rid of it. Fayte had his dance. Then there were other partners for Hilda—many of them; she could get out of dancing with him again. Pearse had gone straight to Mrs. Marchbanks, and now sat beside her, talking to her. Hilda wondered what they were saying. Later, she saw him dancing with Maybelle. When Fayte caught sight of this couple, his sister plainly with her whole battery of fascinations brought to bear, he was furious. The waltz over, he got her outside and began: “You dance with Pearse Masters just once more, Miss, and I’ll see what dad’s got to say about the man you rode over here with to-night.” “Let go of me.” Maybelle shook her arm free. The two dark faces so alike confronted. “I rode over here with you and Hilda. If it comes to telling things to pa——I guess I’ll have a little something to say that you don’t want told. Who fixed it for me to ride with Gene——while you went on with Hilda?” She turned and went back into the house; her brother, swearing under his breath, flung away toward the corral for such consolation as was to be found among the rougher fellows who were drinking down there. Within, the Grainger dance, a great success from the start, was in full swing. “They need one more couple here,” Pearse Masters greeted Maybelle as she reëntered. “Come on,” and they joined a set where Hilda and Billy Grainger stood as one of the head couples. Big John Martin, famous all over the range for his improvisations, was “calling off,” dealing heavily in freehand epithet, comment and admonition. “Now balance—balance all—and cut ’em to one side, Swing—_swing_! Now chase your squirrels as fast as you can ride!” There was applause and laughter from both dancers and lookers-on.