It came about that a dance was to be held at Beacon during the late summer. Jane was wild to go. But it developed that she could not accept the escort of any one of her cowboy admirers without alienating the others. And she began to see the visions of this wonderful dance fade away when Springer accosted her. “Who’s the lucky cowboy to take you to our dance?” “He’s as mysterious and doubtful as Mr. Frank Owens,” replied Jane. “You don’t mean you haven’t been asked to go?” “They’ve all asked me. That’s the trouble.” “I see. But you mustn’t miss it. It’d be pleasant for you to meet some of the ranchers and their wives. Suppose you go with me?” “Oh, Mr. Springer, I—I’d be delighted,” replied Jane. “Thank you. Then it’s settled. I must be in town all that day on cattle business—next Friday. I’ll ask the Hartwells to stop here for you, an’ drive you in.” He seemed gravely, kindly interested as always, yet there was something in his eyes that interfered with the regular beating of Jane’s heart. Jane spent much of the remaining leisure hours on a gown to wear at this dance which promised so much. The Hartwells turned out to be nice people whose little girl was one of Jane’s pupils. On the drive townward, through the crisp fall gloaming, while listening to the chatter of the children, and the talk of the elder Hartwells’, she could not help wondering what Springer would think of her in the new gown. They arrived late. “Reckon it’s just as well for you an’ the children,” said Mrs. Hartwell to Jane. “These dances last from seven to seven.” “Well, I am a tenderfoot from Missouri. But that’s not going to keep me from having a wonderful time.” “You will, dear, unless the cowboys fight over you, which is likely. But at least there won’t be any shootin’. My husband an’ Springer are both on the committee an’ they won’t admit any gun-totin’ cowpuncher.” Here Jane had concrete evidence of something she had begun to suspect. These careless, love-making cowboys might be dangerous. Jane’s first sight of that dance hall astonished her. It was a big barn-like room, roughly raftered and sided, decorated enough with colored bunting to take away the bareness. The volume of sound amazed her. Music and trample of boots, gay laughter, deep voices of men, all seemed to merge into a loud hum. A swaying, wheeling horde of dancers circled past her. No more time, then, was accorded her to clarify the spectacle, for Springer suddenly confronted her. If Jane needed assurance of what she had dreamed of and hoped for she had it in his frank admiration. “Sure it’s somethin’ fine for Bill Springer to have the prettiest girl here,” he said. “Thank you—but, Mr. Springer—I sadly fear you were a cowboy before you became a rancher,” she replied archly. “Sure I was. An’ that you may find out,” he laughed. “Of course, I could never come up to—say—Frank Owens. But let’s dance. I shall have little enough of you in this outfit.”