After I had been relieved, Miss Jean introduced me to a number of nice girls, and for the remainder of the evening I had no lack of partners.  But there was one girl there whom I had not been introduced to, who always avoided my glance when I looked at her, but who, when we were in the same set and I squeezed her hand, had blushed just too lovely.  When that dance was over, I went to Miss Jean for an introduction, but she did not know her, so I appealed to Uncle Lance, for I knew he could give the birth date of every girl present.  We took a stroll through the crowd, and when I described her by her big eyes, he said in a voice so loud that I felt sure she must hear:  “Why, certainly, I know her.  That’s Esther McLeod.  I’ve trotted her on my knee a hundred times.  She’s the youngest girl of old man Donald McLeod who used to ranch over on the mouth of the San Miguel, north on the Frio.  Yes, I’ll give you an interslaption.”  Then in a subdued tone:  “And if you can drop your rope on her, son, tie her good and fast, for she’s good stock.”

I was made acquainted as his latest adopted son, and inferred the old ranchero’s approbation by many a poke in the ribs from him in the intervals between dances; for Esther and I danced every dance together until dawn.  No one could charge me with neglect or inattention, for I close-herded her like a hired hand.  She mellowed nicely towards me after the ice was broken, and with the limited time at my disposal, I made hay.  When the dance broke up with the first signs of day, I saddled her horse and assisted her to mount, when I received the cutest little invitation, ’if ever I happened over on the Sau Miguel, to try and call.’  Instead of beating about the bush, I assured her bluntly that if she ever saw me on Miguel Creek, it would be intentional; for I should have made the ride purely to see her.  She blushed again in a way which sent a thrill through me.  But on the Nueces in ’75, if a fellow took a fancy to a girl there was no harm in showing it or telling her so.

I had been so absorbed during the latter part of the night that I had paid little attention to the rest of the Las Palomas outfit, though I occasionally caught sight of Miss Jean and the drover, generally dancing, sometimes promenading, and once had a glimpse of them tete-a-tete on a rustic settee in a secluded corner.  Our employer seldom danced, but kept his eye on June Deweese in the interests of peace, for Annear and his wife were both present.  Once while Esther and I were missing a dance over some light refreshment, I had occasion to watch June as he and Annear danced in the same set.  I thought the latter acted rather surly, though Deweese was the acme of geniality, and was apparently having the time of his life as he tripped through the mazes of the dance.  Had I not known of the deadly enmity existing between them, I could never have suspected anything but friendship, he was acting the part so perfectly.  But then I knew he had given his plighted word to the master and mistress, and nothing but an insult or indignity could tempt him to break it.