Carolyn June went directly to her room when she reached the house. She wished to investigate the feeling of looseness at her knee. The satin band that belonged there was gone. She felt her cheeks grow hot. Doubtless she had lost it at the corral--the Ramblin' Kid would pick it up! The thought tormented her. Once more she wanted to swear vigorously and with extreme earnestness. Instead she--laughed! It was all so absurd. The strange interest this rough cowboy inspired in her; the confusion she felt when he had spoken to her--no man among all the clever, carefully groomed, ultra-sophisticated suitors she had left in Hartville ever stirred her emotions as had the Ramblin' Kid with a few drawling words and one long look from his black, inscrutable eyes. That look! She had the feeling, someway, that her whole soul was naked before it. She was almost afraid of him. It was silly! She detested him--or--anyway, he needed punishment! No, he wasn't worth it! He was only an ignorant rider of the range--why trouble at all about him? Quickly changing her dress for a riding suit of khaki--the skirt sensibly divided--and the morning slippers for stout, tan, laced boots, she stepped into the front room. Ophelia was in her own room dressing to go to town. Carolyn June heard voices in the kitchen. Sing Pete's shrill chatter mingled with an occasional slow word from the Ramblin' Kid. Thought of the garter she had lost flashed into her mind. Perhaps the cowboy had not found it. She would run out to the corral and see. Passing quickly out the front way Carolyn June hastened again toward the circular corral. Old Heck and Parker were at the garage getting the car ready for the drive to Eagle Butte; Pedro and Chuck were riding across the valley toward the upper pasture. The other cowboys saddled their horses near the barn. As she walked, Carolyn June scanned the ground. At the corral she looked carefully where she had been standing. Her search was fruitless. She smiled queerly. Again she glanced at the Gold Dust maverick. "You darling," she whispered, "I am going to have you--I am--I absolutely am!" Turning, her eyes rested on the saddle, chaps and riding gear lying in the shed where the Ramblin' Kid had slept. Carolyn June stepped close to the outfit. "I have a notion to--to spit on you!" she said vehemently, "or kick--" but she didn't finish the sentence. One tan shoe had been drawn back as if to be swung viciously at the inoffensive pile of riding gear; it paused, suspended, then gently, almost caressingly, pushed the leather chaps which suddenly seemed to Carolyn June to look limp and worn and pathetically tired.