ehind these came
the piano, propelled by those whom Tom had named with the tone of
authority.

The crowd squeezed closer against the wall as the piano went past
them. There was not so much noise and confusion as one would expect.
Then, at the last, slim, overworked, round-shouldered Mother Douglas,
who had done little save pray and weep and work and scold all her
life, walked up and slapped Belle full on the cheek.

"Ye painted Jezebel!" she cried, her eyes burning. "Long have I wanted
to smack ye for your wickedness and the brazen ways of ye--ye painted
Jezebel!"

Blind, dazed with anger, Belle struck back.

"Don't you touch my mother! Shame on you! Shame on you all! I didna
ask you for your favors, for any gifts--and you gave them and then you
come and take them--" This was the voice of Mary Hope, shrill with
rage.

"You gave a dance in a house built for you by the Lorrigans, on
Lorrigan land, and you danced to the music of a Lorrigan piano--and
the Lorrigans were not good enough to be asked to come! Get outa my
way, Hope Douglas--and take your mother with you. Call _me_ a painted
Jezebel, will she?"

The piano was outside, being loaded into the wagon, where Riley sat on
the seat, chewing tobacco grimly and expectorating copiously, without
regard for those who came close. Outside there was also much clamor of
voices. A lantern held high by a Devil's Tooth man who had a gun in
the other, lighted the platform and the wagon beside it.

At the last, Tom Lorrigan himself went back after the stool, and the
room silenced so that his footsteps sounded loud on the empty floor.
He looked at Mary Hope, looked at her mother, looked at the huddled,
whispering women, the gaping children. He swung out of his course and
slipped one arm around Belle and so led her outside, the stool
swinging by one leg in the other hand.

"A painted Jezebel!" Belle said under her breath when they were
outside the ring of light. "My God, Tom, think of that!"

Mary Hope had never in her life suffered such humiliation. It seemed
to her that she stood disgraced before the whole world, that there was
no spot wherein she might hide her shame. Her mother was weeping
hysterically because she had been "slappit by the painted Jezebel" and
because Aleck was not there to avenge her. The Pocatello and Lava
crowd seemed on the point of leaving, and were talking very fast in
undertones that made Mary Hope feel that they were talking about her.
The rattl