“Flirtin’,” retorted the scandalised Rattlesnake. “Luke, you insults me! Calamity an’ me is goin’ to hook up followin’ the spring round-up.” After making this declaration, Rattlesnake, in a kind of ecstatic hysteria at the glowing future before him, withdrew to a corner of the Long Branch and lapsed into a dance which had its rise with the Cheyennes, and was known among its copper coloured authors as the Love Dance of the Catamounts. While Rattlesnake Sanders was thus relieving his soul, Cimarron Bill, who was present, regarded his mad doings with a dubious brow. “That Rattlesnake person’s locoed!” said Cimarron, turning sadly to Mr. Short. “I can’t read signal smokes an’ don’t know the meanin’ of signs if that maverick don’t wind up in a crazy house, cuttin’ paper dolls.” “He ain’t locoed,” explained Mr. Short, with a confidence born of experiences that went beyond those of Cimarron Bill. “That Rattlesnake boy’s in love. They allers ghost-dance an’ go pirootin’ ’round eediotic that a-way.” Cimarron Bill was not convinced, and took later opportunity to say as much to Mr. Masterson. He urged that the nuptials threatened by Miss Barndollar and Rattlesnake Sanders be suppressed. Cimarron insisted that as Sheriff of Ford it was Mr. Masterson’s business to interfere. “Which the way I regyards these proceedin’s,” explained Cimarron, “they’re a menace to the peace of Dodge. Them two people’ll fight worse’n McBride an’ Bridget did. You ought to stop ’em, Bat.” “How’d you stop ’em?” returned Mr. Masterson. “You can stop folks shooting one another, but you can no more stop ’em marryin’ one another than you can stop a cyclone.” “Just the same,” said Cimarron, stubbornly, “it’s your dooty to try.” This conversation took place in the door of Mr. Kelly’s Alhambra. While Mr. Masterson and the gloomy Cimarron were talking, Miss Barndollar and Rattlesnake Sanders came down the street. As the pair arrived opposite Mr. Masterson and Cimarron, the infatuated Rattlesnake jocosely placed his arm about Miss Barndollar’s waist. Whereupon that virgin coyly bestowed upon Rattlesnake a resounding blow. “I’ll teach ye!” cried Miss Barndollar, meanwhile giving Rattlesnake an arch look, “I’ll teach ye whose waist you’re tamperin’ with! I’ll nacherally swat ye ev’ry time y’ do it.” “Ain’t she got sperit!” exclaimed Rattlesnake, winking a blissful eye at Mr. Masterson. “Thar’s nothin’ Texas about her! She’s due to grade as cornfed, my Calamity is, or I’m a shorthorn!” The happy pair continued onward to Mr. Wright’s store and set about pricing pots and kettles and what other bric-à-brac may become the basis of a primitive housekeeping.