round his neck the best polka dot silk handkerchief that could be
bought in Gimlet Butte, also such gala attire as was usually
reserved only for events of importance. Sitting his horse
carelessly in the plainsman's indolent fashion, he asked his
question of McWilliams in front of the Lazy D bunkhouse.

"Nope. When does the shindig come off?"

"Friday night. Big thing. Y'u want to be there. All y'u lads."

"Mebbe some of us will ride over."

He of the polka dot kerchief did not appear quite satisfied. His
glance wandered toward the house, as it had been doing
occasionally since the moment of his arrival.

"Y'u bet this dance is ace high, Mac. Fancy costumes and masks.
Y'u can rent the costumes over to Slauson's for three per. Texas,
he's going to call the dances. Music from Gimlet Butte. Y'u want
to get it tucked away in your thinker that this dance ain't on
the order of culls. No, sirree, it's cornfed."

"Glad to hear of it. I'll cipher out somehow to be there, Slim."

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 canons 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