“Now, June,” said Uncle Lance, as we rode along, “I want you to let Henry Annear’s wife strictly alone to-night.  You know what a stink it raised all along the river, just because you danced with her once, last San Jacinto day.  Of course, Henry made a fool of himself by trying to borrow a six-shooter and otherwise getting on the prod.  And I’ll admit that it don’t take the best of eyesight to see that his wife to-day thinks more of your old boot than she does of Annear’s wedding suit, yet her husband will be the last man to know it.  No man can figure to a certainty on a woman.  Three guesses is not enough, for she will and she won’t, and she’ll straddle the question or take the fence, and when you put a copper on her to win, she loses.  God made them just that way, and I don’t want to criticise His handiwork.  But if my name is Lance Lovelace, and I’m sixty-odd years old, and this a chestnut horse that I’m riding, then Henry Annear’s wife is an unhappy woman.  But that fact, son, don’t give you any license to stir up trouble between man and wife.  Now, remember, I’ve warned you not to dance, speak to, or even notice her on this occasion.  The chances are that that locoed fool will come heeled this time, and if you give him any excuse, he may burn a little powder.”

June promised to keep on his good behavior, saying:  “That’s just what I’ve made up my mind to do.  But look’ee here:  Suppose he goes on the war path, you can’t expect me to show the white feather, nor let him run any sandys over me.  I loved his wife once and am not ashamed of it, and he knows it.  And much as I want to obey you, Uncle Lance, if he attempts to stand up a bluff on me, just as sure as hell’s hot there’ll be a strange face or two in heaven.”

I was a new man on the ranch and unacquainted with the facts, so shortly afterwards I managed to drop to the rear with Dan Happersett, and got the particulars.  It seems that June and Mrs. Annear had not only been sweethearts, but that they had been engaged, and that the engagement had been broken within a month of the day set for their wedding, and that she had married Annear on a three weeks’ acquaintance.  Little wonder Uncle Lance took occasion to read the riot act to his segundo in the interests of peace.  This was all news to me, but secretly I wished June courage and a good aim if it ever came to a show-down between them.

We reached the Arroyo Seco by high noon, and found the ambulance in camp and the coffee pot boiling.  Under the direction of Miss Jean, Tiburcio had removed the seats from the conveyance, so as to afford seating capacity for over half our number.  The lunch was spread under an old live-oak on the bank of the Nueces, making a cosy camp.  Miss Jean had the happy knack of a good hostess, our twenty-mile ride had whetted our appetites, and we did ample justice to her tempting spread.  After luncheon was over and while the team was being harnessed in, I noticed Miss Jean enticing Deweese off on one side, where the two held a whispered conversation, seated on an old fallen tree.  As they returned, June was promising something which she had asked of him.  And if there was ever a woman lived who could exact a promise that would be respected, Jean Lovelace was that woman; for she was like an elder sister to us all.