disgrace!

Chuck, Bert, Charley and Pedro were nervously happy. In the heart of
each was a thrill, caused by the memory of some secret--or what he
thought was a secret--manifestation of Carolyn June's interest. Perhaps
it was no more than the brushing of a stray whiff of odorous brown hair
against a weather-tanned cheek, the pulsing of a warm breath on the side
of a muscular neck, a melting look from a pair of luminous eyes, some
low-spoken word or the pressure of a hand, but whatever it was, each of
the cowboys was reasonably certain he had been singled out for special
favors. Charley was doubly blessed. In addition to Carolyn June's
seductive advances he had the memory, also, of Ophelia's attentions. His
mind was awhirl with the effort to figure out which one, by rights, he
ought to consider as a permanent possibility.

Old Heck and Parker were in a quandary.

Neither was sure of his standing with Ophelia although each had reason
to believe that he was her favorite. Her interest in Charley added an
unexpected and perplexing equation to their problem.

"Gosh," Chuck finally exclaimed, "that dance sure was some blow out!"

"I should say it was!" Bert agreed emphatically and with a satisfied
grin. "But didn't that widow act funny for an 'anti-he' suffragette?"

Old Heck looked up, startled, as if he had been reminded of a
disagreeable subject and one he wished to forget.

"Are you plumb positive that she is one, Parker?" Chuck asked.

"I told you what she was," Parker growled, "she's an 'Organizer' for
some sort of 'Movement' or other."

"Well, I'll be blamed if her 'movements' to-night showed any 'anti-he'
inclinations," Charley interrupted. "She carried on more like a female
vampire than one of these advocaters of woman's rights!"

"Aw, shut up and go to bed," Old Heck grunted. "It's too late to start
any argument!"

The moon crept across the heavens and was hanging above the shadowy
peaks of the Costejo Mountains when the Ramblin' Kid returned to the
sleeping Quarter Circle KT, slipped the saddle from the back of the Gold
Dust maverick and turned the filly and Captain Jack into the circular
corral.

He had ridden the outlaw mare almost to Eagle Butte.

She had learned her lesson. She knew, when he caressed her muzzle and
pressed the last lump of sugar into her mouth, before he turned away to
the bunk-house, that the Ramblin' Kid was not only her master but her
friend as well--understanding and sympathet