wn that was almost black. His eyes had
darkened, his mouth had the Lorrigan twist. He had grown taller,
leaner, surer in his movements,--due to his enthusiasm for athletics
and the gym, though Tom had no means of knowing what had given him
that catlike quickness, the grace of perfect muscular coordination.
Tom thought it was the Lorrigan blood building Lance true to his
forbears as he passed naturally from youth to maturity. He wondered if
Lance, given the environment which had shaped his grandfather, would
have been a "killer," hated by many, feared by all.

Even now, if it came to the point of fighting, would not Lance fight
true to the blood, true to that Lorrigan trick of the folded arms and
the tapping fingers? Would not Lance--? Tom pulled his thoughts away
from following that last conjecture to its logical end. There were
matters in which it might be best not to include Lance, just as he had
been careful not to include Belle. For Lance might still be a good
deal like Belle, in spite of his Lorrigan looks and mannerisms. And
there were certain Lorrigan traits which would not bear any mixture of
Belle in the fiber.

"Well, now, that's all made out. I'll send to Salt Lake and get the
stuff quicker. Wake up, Tom, and tell us how long it will take to put
up the schoolhouse? Lance is going to give the dance--and there won't
be so much as a soggy chocolate cake accepted from the Rimmers. What
will you do, Lance? Put up a notice in Jumpoff?"

"Surely! A mysteriously worded affair, telling little and saying much.
Music and refresh--no, by heck, that sounds too wet and not solid
enough. Music and supper furnished free. Everybody welcome. Can't
Riley drive the chuck-wagon over and have the supper served by a
camp-fire? Golly, but I've been hungry for that old chuck-wagon! That
would keep all the mess of coffee and sandwiches out of the nice, new
schoolhouse."

"Who's going to hold their hat in front of the nice, new schoolhouse
till it's done and ready? And how're you going to let 'em know where
to come to, without giving away the secret?" Al, the practical,
stretched his long legs to the stove and thrust his hands deep into
his trousers pockets while he propounded these two conundrums. "Go on,
Lance. This is yore party."

Lance unfolded his arms and disposed his big body on a bearskin
covered lounge where he could take Belle's hand and pat it and
playfully pinch a finger now and then.

"To look at your hand, Belle,