ghter. And the spirit of her ran out to
meet the simple joy of the dance, glad just to be glad again.

Thornton knew that he had found her before she turned her face toward
him. He recognized the trim little figure although now the riding habit
was discarded for a pretty gown of white which he guessed her own quick
fingers had fashioned for the dance; he recognized the white neck with
the brown tendrils of hair rebelling from the ribbon-band about her
head. And then, when she turned a little, he stared at her from his
vantage in the outside darkness, wondering if she had grown prettier
than ever in the few weeks since he had seen her, or if it were the
dress and the way she wore her hair with a white flower in it, or if he
had been half blind that other time.

There was a warm, tender flush upon her cheeks telling of her happiness.
Her eyes shone, soft in their brightness, and her lips were red with the
leaping blood of youth. She had turned to speak with Mrs. Sturgis, the
stoutest, jolliest and altogether most motherly woman in the valley, and
Mrs. Sturgis, watching her eyes and lips and paying no attention to her
words, put out her plump hands suddenly, crying heartily:

"You pretty little mouse! If I had just one wish I'd wish I was a man,
an' I'd just grab you up in my arms an' I wouldn't stop goin' until I
set you down in front of a preacher. Come here an' let Mother Mary kiss
you."

"There's a woman with brains for you, Buck," chuckled Broderick.

Thornton, though he agreed very heartily just then, did so in silence.

"It's Winifred Waverly," went on Broderick carelessly. "She's Henry
Pollard's niece, you know. A little beauty, don't you think?"

Thornton nodded. Again he had agreed but he did not care to discuss her
with Ben Broderick. The miner laughed lightly, and added for Thornton's
further information,

"As keen a dancer as she is a looker. And a flirt from the drop of the
hat! Had the last dance with her. Which reminds me I better hurry and
down my booze and get back. I'm going to rope her for the next dance,
too."

Broderick went his way for his bottle. Thornton did not speak, did not
turn, did not move that a man might see. But the fingers of the hand at
his side twitched suddenly and for a moment were tense.

"Pollard can't help being mostly rattlesnake," he muttered angrily. "But
he ought to be man enough to keep his own blood kin away from Ben
Broderick's kind. Lord, Lordy, but it's sure eno