you rode up in that lovely, unconventional way. But you see, at dances
one doesn't think of the men as individuals; they're just good or bad
partners. It resolves itself, you see, into a question of feet. If I
should dance with you again,--_did_ I dance with you?"

Weary shot a quick, eloquent glance in her direction. He did not say
anything.

Miss Satterly blushed. "I was going to say, if I danced with you again
I should no doubt remember you perfectly."

Weary was betrayed into a smile. "If I could dance in these boots, I'd
take off my spurs and try and identify myself. But I guess I'll have
to ask yuh to take my word for it that we're acquainted."

"Oh, I will. I meant to, all along. Why aren't you in town,
celebrating? I thought I was the only unpatriotic person in the
country."

"I just came from town," Weary told her, choosing, his words carefully
while yet striving to be truthful. No man likes confessing to a woman
that he has been run away with. "I--er--broke my bridle-bit, back a
few miles" (it was fifteen, if it were a rod) "and so I rode in here to
get one of Joe's. I didn't want to bother anybody, but Glory seemed to
think this was where the trail ended."

Miss Satterly laughed again. "It certainly was funny--you trying to
get him away, and being so still about it. I _heard_ you whispering
swear-words, and I wanted to scream! I just couldn't keep still any
longer. Is he balky?"