hips, elbows outspread, and nodding vigorously to emphasize her speech.

Bart Epperson, a trapper from far back in the hills, had brought his
family to the frolic. Mrs. Epperson was a tiny, meek woman who had but
little to say. Her two daughters, in their late teens, had glossy
black hair, high cheek bones and faint olive tinge of skin which
betrayed a trace of Indian ancestry.

Lafe Brandon came at the head of his tribe. Ma Brandon, white-haired
and motherly and respected by all, was possessed of a queer past known
to the whole community. Forty years before Lafe Brandon had stopped at
a sod hut on the Republican and found a girl wife with both eyes
discolored from blows of her heavy-handed spouse. Lafe had left the
bearded ruffian unconscious, with a broken nose and three fractured
ribs, and had ridden off with the girl. Five sons and a daughter had
been born to them. Two years before, Kit Brandon, the daughter, had
been wed to a merchant in Coldriver. The traveling parson who married
them heard of the parents' queer case, learned that Ma Brandon's former
mate was long since dead, and spoke earnestly to the pair. Both were
willing to do anything which might prove of future benefit to Kit. The
conference resulted in the old couple's standing before the parson and
having the marriage service performed for them an hour before a like
rite was rendered for the daughter.

Harris laughed as he informed Deane of this bit of history.

"They both considered it rather an unnecessary fuss," he said. "And
it's rumored that they had their first quarrel of a lifetime on the way
home from the service."

Two of the sons were married and living at the home ranch. They came
to the dance with the rest of the family. Lou Brandon's wife, Dolly,
was a former dance-hall girl of Coldriver, and Al Brandon's better
half, Belle, was the daughter of a Utah cowman.

An extra stage-load rolled in from Coldriver and four couples joined
the throng.

"Ex-school-teachers," Harris informed. "They marry them so fast that
it's hard to keep one on the job instructing the rising generation in
the Coldriver school."

Deane shrank from the thought of the Three Bar girl in such a mixture.
Someway she seemed many shades finer than the rest.

"It couldn't be otherwise," Harris said, when Deane expressed this
thought. "She was raised at the knee of one of the finest women in the
world. I remember her mother myself--a little; and I've hea