Ophelia and Carolyn June looked curiously at each other as if they suspected some secret that had to do with their presence at the Quarter Circle KT.

Outside, the cowboys lounged on the porch or lay spread full length on the grass smoking their cigarettes, and silent.  Each was busy with thoughts of his own.  Carolyn June had been very impartial during the evening meal, distributing her smiles and little attentions freely among them all.  Now she was sitting at the piano playing snatches of random melodies as they came to her mind, while Skinny sat stiffly on a high-backed chair at the corner of the instrument.

A drone of voices reached the ears of Parker and the cowboys as Old Heck, skilfully led on by Ophelia, told about the ranch, the Kiowa range and the traditions of western Texas.

“Can you play La Paloma?” Skinny asked as Carolyn June paused after running over a dainty and vivacious one-step, memories of which made her think of Hartville and the fashionable ballrooms where she had reigned as princess at least if not as queen, and which seemed now very far away.

“I’m afraid not—­unless I have the music, but I’ll try,” she answered, and her fingers again sought the keys.

The dreamy Mexican air drifted seductively out on the sultry motionless night.

Bert looked through the window and saw Skinny lean back in his chair, his eyes closed and an expression of supreme content stealing over his face.

“Skinny’s gone—­he’s surrendered,” he said to Chuck, lying full length on the porch at his side; “look at the poor cuss with his eyes shut and grinning as if he was seeing visions of Paradise!”

“That combination would capture most anybody,” Chuck answered.  “I’m starting to feel affectionate myself.”

Bert didn’t reply, Chuck having expressed too nearly his own swelling emotions.

“Uncle Josiah!” Carolyn June called, suddenly whirling around on the piano stool as she finished the last bars of La Paloma, “may I have a horse?”

Old Heck, grown silent under the spell of the music, and, like Skinny, sitting dreaming dreams that almost frightened him, started quickly.

“A—­a what?” he asked.

“A horse—­” she answered, “a broncho to ride!”

“Oh, uh—­sure!  Skinny, go get her one!” he replied confusedly.

“Not now,” Carolyn June laughed, “to-morrow—­any time, whenever I want to use it!”

“Can you ride?” Skinny asked eagerly.

“Ever since I can remember,” Carolyn June said, “daddy has kept horses—­I love ’em!  Ophelia rides, too,” she added.

“In automobiles—­” Ophelia corrected.

“That’s a good arrangement,” Skinny said; “it will make everything work out all right.”

“I don’t understand,” Carolyn June said; “what arrangement?”

“We’d better be going to bed, Skinny,” Old Heck interposed anxiously, “it’s getting late!”