Endicott started to retrieve it, but before he had taken a half-dozen steps there was a swift pounding of hoofs and two horses shot out from the group of cowboys and dashed at full speed, their riders low in the saddle and each with his gaze fixed on the tiny bit of white fabric.  Nose and nose the horses ran, their hoofs raising a cloud of white alkali dust in their wake.  Suddenly, just as they reached the handkerchief, the girl who watched with breathless interest gasped.  The saddles were empty!  From the madly racing horses her glance flew to the cloud of dust which concealed the spot where a moment before had lain that little patch of white.  Her fingers clenched as she steeled herself to the sight of the two limp, twisted forms that the lifting dust cloud must reveal.  Scarcely daring to wink she fixed her eyes upon the ground—­but the dust cloud had drifted away and there were no limp, twisted forms.  Even the little square of white was gone.  In bewilderment she heard cries of approval and loud shouts of applause from the passengers.  Once more her ears caught the sound of pounding hoofs, and circling toward her in a wide curve were the two riders, erect and firm in their saddles, as a gauntleted hand held high a fluttering scrap of white.

The horses brought up directly before her, a Stetson was swept from a thick shock of curly black hair, the gauntleted hand extended the recalcitrant handkerchief, and she found herself blushing furiously for no reason at all beneath the direct gaze of a pair of very black eyes that looked out from a face tanned to the colour of old mahogany.

“Oh, thank you!  It was splendid—­the horsemanship.”  She stammered.  “I’ve seen it in the movies, but I didn’t know it was actually done in real life.”

“Yes, mom, it is.  It’s owin’ to the horse yeh’ve got, an’ yer cinch.  Yeh’ll see a heap better’n that this afternoon right on this here flat.  An’ would yeh be layin’ over fer the dance tonight, mom?”

The abrupt question was even more disconcerting than the compelling directness of his gaze.

For an instant, the girl hesitated as her eyes swept from the cowpuncher’s face to the brilliant scarf loosely knotted about his throat, the blue flannel shirt, the bright yellow angora chaps against which the ivory butt of a revolver showed a splotch of white, and the boots jammed into the broad wooden stirrups, to their high heels from which protruded a pair of enormously rowelled spurs inlaid with silver.  By her side Endicott moved impatiently and cleared his throat.

She answered without hesitation.  “Yes, I think I shall.”

“I’d admire fer a dance with yeh, then,” persisted the cowpuncher.

“Why—­certainly.  That is, if I really decide to stay.”

“We’ll try fer to show yeh a good time, mom.  They’ll be some right lively fiddlin’, an’ she don’t bust up till daylight.”