Breathless and flushed with exercise the other girls now dropped into their seats. The hot, crowded room, the dust raised by the shuffling of many feet on the floor and the strange company rather bewildered them. Only Nancy had really enjoyed the experience, because Jim was an excellent dancer; and he had guided her carefully through the mazes of the jigging two-step.

But there was to be further entertainment before they might be allowed to stroll out under the stars and breathe in the fresh air. A Mexican cowboy with a broad crimson sash around his waist, a border of bright-colored fringe edging the side of his trousers and jingling spurs on his high-heeled boots, danced a wild fandango to a Spanish tune with a throbbing accompaniment on the guitar, which seemed to grow faster and faster as he struck his heels on the floor.

Then the music stopped and two Indians appeared. One of them squatted on the floor and began beating monotonously on a small kind of a drum or tom-tom. The other Indian in full regalia began dancing slowly in a circle, stooping low as if he were hiding from his prey which he would presently pounce upon and destroy utterly. He was a barbaric and war-like figure and the girls unconsciously shrunk back as he danced by them. Gradually the dance grew wilder and the steps quicker. The Indian gave a strange bird-like cry, and for the fraction of a moment paused in front of Billie. With another cry that had a familiar sound he flashed a black glance of hatred into her face and was gone.

Again Billie thought she recognized a likeness. She turned her bewildered eyes downward, her face flushing with embarrassment. There in her lap was a long, grayish feather.

“What’s this for?” she demanded, turning to Barney McGee.

“I reckon it’s a complimentary souvenir for you, Miss Billie,” replied the ranchman. “It’s one of Hawkeseye’s jokes, a quill from a hawk’s wing.”

“Hawkeseye,” repeated Billie.

“Oh, yes, we call him that for fun. His name is Buckthorne Hawkes. He ain’t all Injun, you know. He’s really the Missus’ brother, but he can certainly fix himself up to look as much like a full-blooded Indian buck as if he had just come from the reservation.”

“Was he ever a peddler?” Billie asked.

Barney laughed.

“He’s a graduate of Carlyle University,” he answered. “He’s come out West to teach school.”

In the meantime, Elinor had been led by Tony Blackstone into the courtyard, where they sat down on a bench. Overhead the stars gleamed with incredible brilliancy, partly because the stars from a Western plain seem infinitely larger and grander than they do anywhere else, and partly because they gazed at them from the depths of a small dark courtyard.

“Perhaps Miss Campbell would not like to have me leave the—the ballroom,” said Elinor, not knowing how to designate the dining room in its present use.

“It’s only a step away,” said Tony Blackstone, “and we can’t talk in there very well. You remind me of—of an English girl I once knew, and it would be just common charity to talk to me a little.”

“Are you homesick, then?” asked Elinor.

“Sometimes. If anything happens to remind me of—of my other home.”

“Then you are not happy here?” the young girl demanded quickly, as if this were a confirmation of her suspicions.

“There are times when I am happy,” he said. “When I am riding at night across the plains on a horse that goes like the wind. It is wonderful then, especially when the moon is full. I can almost forget that I have an identity at such times.”

There was a long pause. Elinor hardly knew what to say, and she watched the young man gravely. That he was deeply moved by the memories her own face had conjured up she could plainly see. His lips twitched convulsively and he clenched his hands as if he were trying to choke the thoughts that would rise in his mind. Why had he come away from home and lost himself in this distant place?

They sat thus for some time watching the stars silently. A sympathy had sprung up between them and they seemed to have known each other for a long time.

“What was her name?” she asked at last in a low voice.

“Elinor,” he burst out. “Elinor, the same as yours,” and he turned his face away.

Perhaps he was crying. Elinor never knew, although it seemed strange for a big splendid cowboy to shed tears.

“I’m so sorry for you,” she said kindly, and laid her hand on his arm, a great piece of condescension for her. “Touch-me-not” was a nick-name given her long ago by her friends.

“Oh, Elinor, Elinor,” he exclaimed, taking her hand in his, “if you could only understand what the sight of your face and the sound of your voice mean to me! If you could only know what I have lost by my folly, my wretched, miserable folly!”

“Aren’t you ever going back?” she asked, and she did not withdraw her hand.

“It’s too late now,” he said. “She hates me—they all hate me!”

“Are you sure?” she persisted.

“Perfectly certain.”

“Elinor, dear, I think you had better come back, now,” called Miss Campbell, who never let her girls out of her sight for long.

“Is Blackstone your real name?” Elinor asked as they paused before the door of the dancing room.

“My real name,” he replied, “is Algernon Blackstone de Willoughby Winston.”

Elinor repeated the names after him and buried them deep in her mind.

A Virginia reel was forming and Mrs. Steptoe has asked as an especial favor if the young ladies would not dance. Nancy had given her hand to Jim for the dance. It was the third time she had bestowed this honor upon him, and with unconcealed joy he stood at the top of the line ready to lead off. Billie was dancing with Barney McGee. Mary had accepted Brek Steptoe as a partner and Elinor, with Algernon Blackstone de Willoughby Winston now joined the line.

There were only three or four other women including Mrs. Steptoe, and for the rest, cowboys and ranchmen danced together with perfect good nature.

How strange it seemed to Miss Campbell, her four girls dancing among these queer people. No wonder the other dancers forgot the figures of the reel while they drank in the picture of their fresh young faces. It was to them as if a garden of roses had suddenly sprung up in the desert.

“Down the center,” called the musician. “Now, right and left all around.”

The fiddle whined. The guitar thrummed passionately. Miss Campbell’s head was in a whirl.

“Ought we to have taken the risk of this visit?” she kept saying. “When one is traveling one must have experiences,” her thoughts continued. “Besides, what harm can come of it? They are rough, kindly people, and have taken so much trouble to give us this entertainment. But I really don’t care for all this noise and dust. I hope I shall never go to another one.”

The little lady leaned her head wearily against the wall and closed her eyes. An arm slipped around her waist. It was Elinor, who having danced her turn had quietly joined her. Her partner had disappeared in the courtyard.

The two women exchanged meaning glances. The noisy dance, the jingling spurs of the cowboys as the dancers came down the middle, and an occasional loud laugh did not appeal to Elinor either.

“We must excuse ourselves, dear,” Miss Campbell was saying, when suddenly the courtyard resounded with a loud cry.

“You insufferable, black-livered hound,” came the voice of Algernon Blackstone de Willoughby Winston, “if I catch you sneaking around here again with your knives, I’ll throw you out to the coyotes.”

The dance continued, and only one dancer dropped out. Either they had not heard the disturbance, or else such disturbances were too common to notice. It was, consequently, Rosina Steptoe alone, with face aflame and eyes snapping like two little wells of fire, who signed to her partner and approached the doorway. She was too angry to notice how near Miss Campbell and Elinor were sitting to the open door.

“Tony, how dare you speak to my brother like that,” she hissed into the court. “I told you before I wouldn’t have it.”

“Nonsense, Rosina, your brother deserves a good thrashing for his tricks. I just caught his arm as he was about to throw this dagger into the room.”

“It was only a little joke, Rosy,” whined her brother.

“Joke be hanged,” broke in the Englishman, “how dare you attempt to frighten these ladies by such a joke. Try it again and I’ll keep my word.”

“Don’t you be so interferin’ with the Hawkes family,” cried Rosina shrilly.

Miss Campbell rose. The dance was just reaching a climax with its final right and left all round. She beckoned to the girls.

“If you don’t mind, Mrs. Steptoe, I think we’ll say good-night. We’ve had a long day. The entertainment has been most delightful.”

Rosina became humble under the gaze of the elegant little woman.

“I will show you to your rooms,” she said meekly.

They bade the company a general good night, and it was not long before they had locked themselves into their bedrooms, and following Miss Campbell’s instructions, had pushed the heaviest piece of furniture in the room against each door.