For a moment the group studied one another.

Carolyn June held the eyes of Skinny in mute and helpless admiration.  Despite the heat of the blazing sun she looked fresh and dean and pleasant—­wholly unsoiled by the marks of travel.  A snow-white Panama hat, the brim sensibly wide, drooped over cheeks that were touched with a splash of tan that suggested much time in the open.  An abundance of hair, wonderfully soft and brown, showing the slightest glint of coppery red running it in vagrant strands, fluffed from under the hat.  The skirt of her traveling suit, some light substantial material, reached the span of a hand above the ankle.  White shoes, silk stockings that matched and through which glowed the faint pink of firm, healthy, young flesh, lent charm to the costume she wore.  Her lips were red and moist and parted over teeth that were strong and white.  A saucy upward tilt to the nose, hinting that Carolyn June was a flirt; brown eyes that were level almost with Skinny’s and that held in them a laugh and yet deep below the mirth something thoughtful, honest and unafraid, finished the wreck of the cowboy’s susceptible heart.  Trim and smooth was Carolyn June, suggesting to Skinny Rawlins a clean-bred filly of saddle strain that has developed true to form.

Old Heck gazed in equal awe at the more mature Ophelia.

Somewhere near forty she may have been, cozily plump and solid.  She had gray-blue eyes that were steady and frank yet clearly accustomed to being obeyed.  Her hair was a trifle darker in shade than the silky brown on the head of Carolyn June.  She was dressed with immaculate neatness and taste and carried that well-preserved assurance no woman in the world save the American of mature development acquires.

There was energy in every line of her body and Ophelia gave Old Heck, the embarrassed owner of the Quarter Circle KT, more thrills in that one moment of silent scrutiny than he ever before had felt in the presence of any woman.

As they looked, Skinny and Old Heck Instinctively, a bit awkwardly perhaps, removed the Stetson they wore on their heads.

“Howdy-do!” Old Heck finally managed to say.

Skinny gulped like an echo, another “Howdy-do!” in the direction of Carolyn June.

“I reckon you are Carolyn June and Missus Ophelia Cobb,” Old Heck stammered “Which one of you is which?” unconsciously paying tribute to the well preserved youthfulness of the widow.

“Oh, Ophelia, beware!” Carolyn June laughed, not in the least offended; “the gay old rascal is at it already!”

“He didn’t mean nothing” Skinny interposed, sensing that Old Heck some way had made a blunder.  “I guess you must be Carolyn June?” looking questioningly at the girl.

“Excuse me,” Old Heck said, “I’m your uncle, I suppose, and this is Skinny Rawlins—­”

“Howdy-do; I’m glad to meet you,” Skinny muttered, reaching for the hand Carolyn June frankly extended.