Wyoming (Musaicum Western Mysteries). William MacLeod Raine

will be there, from six months old to eighty odd years. It wouldn't be PROPER to stay at home.”

      The foreman drove her to Fraser's in a surrey with Ida Henderson and one of the Lazy D punchers on the back seat. The drive was over twenty-five miles, but in that silent starry night every mile was a delight. Part of the way led through a beautiful canon, along the rocky mountain road of which the young man guided the rig with unerring skill. Beyond the gorge the country debouched into a grassy park that fell away from their feet for miles. It was in this basin that the Fraser ranch lay.

      The strains of the fiddle and the thumping of feet could be heard as they drove up. Already the rooms seemed to be pretty well filled, as Helen noticed when they entered. Three sets were on the floor for a quadrille and the house shook with the energy of the dancers. On benches against the walls were seated the spectators, and on one of them stood Texas calling the dance.

      “Alemane left. Right hand t'yer pardner and grand right and left. Ev-v-rybody swing,” chanted the caller.

      A dozen rough young fellows were clustered near the front door, apparently afraid to venture farther lest their escape be cut off. Through these McWilliams pushed a way for his charges, the cowboys falling back respectfully at once when they discovered the presence of Miss Messiter.

      In the bedroom where she left her wraps the mistress of the Lazy D found a dozen or more infants and several of their mothers. In the kitchen were still other women and babies, some of the former very old and of the latter very young. A few of the babies were asleep, but most of them were still very much alive to this scene of unwonted hilarity in their young lives.

      As soon as she emerged into the general publicity of the dancing room her foreman pounced upon Helen and led her to a place in the head set that was making up. The floor was rough, the music jerky and uncertain, the quadrilling an exhibition of joyous and awkward abandon; but its picturesque lack of convention appealed to the girl from Michigan. It rather startled her to be swung so vigorously, but a glance about the room showed that these humorous-eyed Westerners were merely living up to the duty of the hour as they understood it.

      At the close of the quadrille Helen found herself being introduced to “Mr. Robins,” alias Slim, who drew one of his feet back in an embarrassed bow.

      “I enjoy to meet y'u, ma'am,” he assured her, and supplemented this with a request for the next dance, after which he fell into silence that was painful in its intensity.

      Nearly all the dances were squares, as few of those present understood the intricacies of the waltz and two-step. Hence it happened that the proficient McWilliams secured three round dances with his mistress.

      It was during the lunch of sandwiches, cake and coffee that Helen perceived an addition to the company. The affair had been advertised a costume ball, but most of those present had construed this very liberally. She herself, to be sure, had come as Mary Queen of Scots, Mac was arrayed in the scarlet tunic and tight-fitting breeches of the Northwest Mounted Police, and perhaps eight or ten others had made some attempt at representing some one other than they were. She now saw another, apparently a new arrival, standing in the doorway negligently. A glance told her that he was made up for a road agent and that his revolvers and mask were a part of the necessary costuming.

      Slowly his gaze circled the room and came round to her. His eyes were hard as diamonds and as flashing, so that the impact of their meeting looks seemed to shock her physically. He was a tall man, swarthy of hue, and he carried himself with a light ease that looked silken strong. Something in the bearing was familiar yet not quite familiar either. It seemed to suggest a resemblance to somebody she knew. And in the next thought she knew that the somebody was Ned Bannister.

      The man spoke to Fraser, just then passing with a cup of coffee, and Helen saw the two men approach. The stranger was coming to be formally introduced.

      “Shake hands with Mr. Holloway, Miss Messiter. He's from up in the hill country and he rode to our frolic. Y'u've got three guesses to figure out what he's made up as.”

      “One will be quite enough, I think,” she answered coldly.

      Fraser departed on his destination with the coffee and the newcomer sat down on the bench beside her.

      “One's enough, is it?” he drawled smilingly.

      “Quite, but I'm surprised so few came in costume. Why didn't you? But I suppose you had your reasons.”

      “Didn't I? I'm supposed to be a bad man from the hills.”

      She swept him casually with an indifferent glance. “And isn't that what you are in real life?”

      His sharp scrutiny chiseled into her. “What's that?”

      “You won't mind if I forget and call you Mr. Bannister instead of Mr. Holloway?”

      She thought his counterfeit astonishment perfect.

      “So I'm Ned Bannister, am I?”

      Their eyes clashed.

      “Aren't you?”

      She felt sure of it, and yet there was a lurking doubt. For there was in his manner something indescribably more sinister than she had felt in him on that occasion when she had saved his life. Then a debonair recklessness had been the outstanding note, but now there was something ribald and wicked in him.

      “Since y'u put it as a question, common politeness demands an answer. Ned Bannister is my name.”

      “You are the terror of this country?”

      “I shan't be a terror to y'u, ma'am, if I can help it,” he smiled.

      “But you are the man they call the king?”

      “I have that honor.”

      “HONOR?”

      At the sharp scorn of her accent he laughed.

      “Do you mean that you are proud of your villainy?” she demanded.

      “Y'u've ce'tainly got the teacher habit of asking questions,” he replied with a laugh that was a sneer.

      A shadow fell across them and a voice said quietly, “She didn't wait to ask any when she saved your life down in the coulee back of the Lazy D.”

      The shadow was Jim McWilliams's, and its owner looked down at the man beside the girl with steady, hostile eyes.

      “Is this your put in, sir?” the other flashed back.

      “Yes, seh, it is. The boys don't quite like seeing your hardware so prominent at a social gathering. In this community guns don't come into the house at a ranch dance. I'm a committee to mention the subject and to collect your thirty-eights if y'u agree with us.”

      “And if I don't agree with you?”

      “There's all outdoors ready to receive y'u, seh. It would be a pity to stay in the one spot where your welcome's wore thin.”

      “Still I may choose to stay.”

      “Ce'tainly, but if y'u decide that way y'u better step out on the porch and talk it over with us where there ain't ladies present.”

      “Isn't this a costume dance? What's the matter with my guns? I'm an outlaw, ain't I?”

      “I don't know whether y'u are or not, seh. If y'u say y'u are we're ready to take your word. The guns have to be shucked if y'u stay here. They might go off accidental and scare the ladies.”

      The man rose blackly. “I'll remember this. If y'u knew who y'u were getting so gay with—”

      “I can guess, Mr. Holloway, the kind of an outfit y'u freight with, and I expect I could put a handle to another name for you.”

      “By God, if y'u dare to say—”

      “I don't dare, especially among so many ladies,” came McWilliams's jaunty answer.

      The eyes of the two men gripped, after which Holloway swung on his heel and swaggered defiantly