--and that henceforth and forever he was a marked man--a
detriment to the community--to be discredited, shunned, and, if
possible, driven out.

The invitation composed and printed by Mr. Butefish after much mental
travail, requesting the pleasure of the Toomeys' company at a reception
and dance in the Prouty House to celebrate the third year of the town's
prosperity and progress was one of the results of this meeting of the
Boosters Club.

Toomey's thin lips curled superciliously as he glanced at it and tossed
it across the breakfast table:

"Here, Hughie, why don't you take this in?"

"You'll go, won't you?" the lad asked eagerly after reading it.

"We never mingle socially with the natives." As Mrs. Toomey shook her
head her smile and tone expressed ineffable exclusiveness. Seeing that
the boy's face fell in disappointment she urged, "But you go, Hughie."

"If I knew some one to ask--"

"There's Maggie Taylor," Mrs. Toomey suggested.

"And Mormon Joe's Kate," Toomey added, laughing.

"Who's she?" the boy asked curiously.

"Do you remember the day when you were here before that we met those
people driving a band of sheep--a man and a barefooted girl in
overalls?"

Hughie's eyes sparkled:

"They stopped here, then?"

Toomey scowled.

"Yes, confound 'em! I've had more than one 'run in' with 'em since over
range and water. But," he urged, "don't let that hinder you. They live
with their sheep back there in the foothills like a couple of white
savages, and she's some greener than alfalfa. Go and ask her. You'll get
some fun out of it. I dare you! I'll bet you a saddle blanket against
anything you like that you haven't got the sand to take her."

"Done!" Hughie Disston's eyes were dancing. "If my nerve fails me when I
see her, you are in a new Navajo."

It was a great lark to Disston, now a tall boy of nineteen, handsome,
attractive, with the soft drawl of his southern speech and the easy
manners of those who have associated much with women-folk. He was in
high spirits as, one morning early, he and Teeters turned off from the
main road and took the faint trail which led up Bitter Creek.

They rode until they saw two tepees showing white through the willows.

"We're in luck to catch them home at this hour," said Teeters, as they
heard a faint tinkle from the corrals on the other side of the creek.
"They've got the sheep inside--must be cuttin' out. Yes," as they forded
and drew closer, "there's Kate at