Slim’s glance took in the ranchhouse again. He had ridden twenty-three miles out of his way to catch a glimpse of the newly arrived mistress of the Lazy D, the report of whose good looks and adventures had traveled hand in hand through many cañons even to the heart of the Tetons. It had been on Skunk Creek that he had heard of her three days before, and now he had come to verify the tongue of rumor, to see her quite casually, of course, and do his own appraising. It began to look as if he were going to have to ride off without a glimpse of her. He nodded toward the house, turning a shade more purple than his native choleric hue. “Y’u want to bring your boss with y’u, Mac. We been hearing a right smart lot about her and the boys would admire to have her present. It’s going to be strictly according to Hoyle—no rough-house plays go, y’understand.” “I’ll speak to her about it.” Mac’s deep amusement did not reach the surface. He was quite well aware that Slim was playing for time and that he was too bashful to plump out the desire that was in him. “Great the way cows are jumpin’, ain’t it?” “Sure. Well, I’ll be movin’ along to Slauson’s. I just drapped in on my way. Thought mebbe y’u hadn’t heard tell of the dance.” “Much obliged. Was it for old man Slauson y’u dug up all them togs, Slim? He’ll ce’tainly admire to see y’u in that silk tablecloth y’u got round your neck.” Slim’s purple deepened again. “Y’u go to grass, Mac. I don’t aim to ask y’u to be my valley yet awhile.” “C’rect. I was just wondering do all the Triangle Bar boys ride the range so handsome?” “Don’t y’u worry about the Triangle Bar boys,” advised the embarrassed Slim, gathering up his bridle reins. With one more reluctant glance in the direction of the house he rode away. When he reached the corral he looked back again. His gaze showed him the boyish foreman doubled up with laughter; also the sweep of a white skirt descending from the piazza. “Now, ain’t that hoodooed luck?” the aggrieved rider of the Triangle Bar outfit demanded of himself, “I made my getaway about three shakes too soon, by gum!” Her foreman was in the throes of mirth when Helen Messiter reached him. “Include me in the joke,” she suggested. “Oh, I was just thinkin’,” he explained inadequately. “Does it always take you that way?” “About these boys that drop in so frequent on business these days. Funny how fond they’re getting of the Lazy D. There was that stock detective happened in yesterday to show how anxious he was about your cows. Then the two Willow Creek riders that wanted a job punching for y’u, not to mention mention the Shoshone miner and the storekeeper from Gimlet Butte and Soapy Sothern and—” “Still I don’t quite see the joke.” “It ain’t any joke with them. Serious business, ma’am.” “What happened to start you on this line?”