The third evening, after supper, Gowan handed Isobel the horny, half-flattened rattles of an unusually large rattlesnake. "What is it? Do you wish me to guess his length?" she asked, evidently surprised that he should fetch her so commonplace an object. "I make it four feet." "You're three inches short," he replied. "Well, what about it?" she inquired. "Nothing--only I just happened to get him up near the bunkhouse, Miss Chuckie. Thought I'd tell you, in case he has a mate around." "We must all look sharp. You, too, Mr. Ashton. They are more apt to strike without warning, this time of year." "I know," remarked Ashton. "It's before they cast their old skin, and it makes them blind." "Too early for that," corrected Knowles. "I figure it's the long spell of the summer's heat. Gets on their nerves, same as with us." "They shore are mighty like some humans," observed Gowan. "Look at the way they like to snuggle up in your blankets on a cool night. Remember how I used to carry a hair rope on spring round-up?" "I remember that they used to crawl into the bunkhouse before the floor was laid," said Isobel. She smiled at Ashton. "That was the Dry Mesa reptilian age. I first learned to handle a 'gun' shooting at rattlers. There were so many we had to make it a rule to kill everyone we could. But there hasn't been one killed so near the house for years." "They often go in pairs. This one, though, may have been a lone stray," added Gowan. He looked at his employer. "Talking about strays, guess I'd best go out in the morning and head back that Bar-Lazy-J bunch. I can take an iron along and brand those two calves, same trip." Knowles nodded and returned to his Government report. The two young men and Isobel began an evening's entertainment at the piano. Ashton enjoyed himself immensely. Though so frank and unconstrained in manner, the girl was as truly refined as the most fastidiously reared ladies of the East. At the end of the delightful evening he withdrew with Gowan to the bunkhouse, reluctant to leave, yet aglow with pleasure. Isobel had so charmed him that he lay in his bunk forgetful of all else than her limpid blue eyes and dimpled cheeks. But after his two nights of broken rest he could not long resist the heaviness that pressed together his eyelids. He fell asleep, smiling at the recollection of the girl's gracious, "Good-night and pleasant dreams!" With such a kindly wish from her, his dreams certainly should have been heavenly. Yet he began the night by sinking into so profound a sleep that he had no dreams whatever. When at last he did rouse to the dream-state of consciousness, it was not to enjoy any pleasant fantasy of music and flowers.