“You happen to be connected with the Long S down in the Larb Hills country?” he inquired. “Well, sort of,” young Stevens grinned. “My father’s outfit. You know anybody with the Long S?” “Oh, I expect I know some of your men,” Robin said. “But I wasn’t thinkin’ of that. It just struck me that it’s kind of funny to come across you. Bob Terry is a cousin of mine.” “The dickens he is! Then we’re kin by marriage. You’re a Texan too, then?” Robin shook his head. “My father was. I was born in the Black Hills; grew up there.” “Wonder you never showed up round the Long S.” Stevens gazed at him. “Or are you on your own here?” “Uh-uh. Punchin’ cows. I was with Bob one season over on the Big Dry.” “You know my sister, then?” “Oh sure. Liked her a heap, too.” Young Stevens smiled at May and Robin impartially. “You’ve heard about Bob Terry chasing all the way from the Panhandle to kill young Joe Stevens, haven’t you?” May laughed. “Certainly. I was a little girl here when it happened. Is there any one on the range in Montana who hasn’t heard that story about Bob Terry and young Joe Stevens? And Mr. Tyler is Bob Terry’s cousin, eh? Since Joe is your sister, what ‘in-law’ relation does that make you two?” “Give it up.” “Too complicated,” Robin murmured. “I’d have to go to school some more to figure that out.” “As usual,” May changed the subject, “there aren’t enough girls to go around. Did you bring one?” “Yes. She’s getting organized,” Robin answered. He looked around. Ivy stood just inside the door of the little side room looking at him. He beckoned. She didn’t move, except to lift her hands and finger her hair with deft little patting touches. The handclapping brought an encore from the fiddler and the coatless pianist who pawed the ivory with gay abandon even if his technique left something to be desired. Stevens and May went on with their dance. Robin joined Ivy where she stood. He was impatient to get his feet on that smooth floor. “Who was that towhead you were talkin’ to?” she asked--it seemed to Robin a trifle resentfully. That amused him, perhaps even flattered his vanity a trifle. He had known Ivy to be jealous before on slight grounds, or none at all. “Oh, that’s Adam Sutherland’s girl,” he said carelessly. “Come on. Let’s dance.” “I never knew you knew her,” Ivy said. “I met her once. What’s the odds?” They moved out on the floor. Mark Steele passed them with the schoolma’am clasped in his manly arms. The school-teacher was very good-looking, a vivacious person with a mass of dark auburn hair and gray eyes and Mark was supposed to like her rather well. He smiled and spoke to Ivy over his partner’s shoulder and Ivy bestowed on Mark her sweetest smile and a pert reply.