The Greatest Adventure Books - MacLeod Raine Edition. William MacLeod Raine

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      Chapter 5.

       The Dance at Fraser's

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      “Heard tell yet of the dance over to Fraser's?”

      He was a young man of a brick red countenance and he wore loosely 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 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?”

      “The lad riding down the road on that piebald pinto. He come twenty miles out of his way, plumb dressed for a wedding, all to give me an invite to a dance at Fraser's. Y'u would call that real thoughtful of him, I expect.”

      She gayly sparkled. “A real ranch dance—the kind you have been telling me about. Are Ida and I invited?”

      “Invited? Slim hinted at a lynching if I came without y'u.”

      She laughed softly, merry eyes flashing swiftly at him. “How gallant you Westerners are, even though you do turn it into burlesque.”

      His young laugh echoed hers. “Burlesque nothing. My life wouldn't be worth a thing if I went alone. Honest, I wouldn't dare.”

      “Since the ranch can't afford to lose its foreman Ida and I will go along,” she promised. “That is, if it is considered proper here.”

      “Proper. Good gracious, ma'am! Every lady for thirty miles round 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.

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