As Steve strolled out into the moonlight, he left behind him the
monotonous thumping of heavy feet and the singsong voice of the
caller.

"Birdie fly out,
Crow hop in,
Join all hands
And circle ag'in."

came to him, in the high, strident voice of Lute Perkins. He took a
deep breath of fresh, clean air, and looked about him. After the hot,
dusty room, the grove, with its green foliage, through which the
moonlight filtered, looked invitingly cool. He sauntered forward,
climbed the hill up which the wooded patch straggled, and sat down,
with his back to a pine.

Behind the valley rampart, he could see the dim, saw-toothed Teton
peaks, looking like ghostly shapes in the moonlight. The night was
peaceful. Faint and mellow came the sound of jovial romping from the
house; otherwise, beneath the distant stars, a perfect stillness held.

How long he sat there, letting thoughts happen dreamily rather than
producing them of gray matter, he did not know. A slight sound, the
snapping of a twig, brought his mind to alertness without causing the
slightest movement of his body.

His first thought was that, in accordance with dance etiquette in the
ranch country, his revolver was in its holster under the seat of the
trap in which they had driven over. Since his week was not up, he had