As they pushed their way through the crowd of rough young fellows who clustered round the door, as if afraid their escape might be cut off, Fraser observed that the floor was already crowded with dancers.

The quadrille came to an end as he arrived, and, after they had seated their partners, red-faced perspiring young punchers swelled the knot around the door.

Alec stayed to chaff with them, while the Texan sauntered across the floor and took a seat on one of the benches which lined the walls.  As he did so, a man and his partner, so busy in talk with each other that they had not observed who he was, sat down beside him in such position that the young woman was next him.  Without having looked directly at either of them, Fraser knew that the girl was Arlie Dillon, and her escort Jed Briscoe.  She had her back half turned toward him, so that, even after she was seated she did not recognize her neighbor.

Steve smiled pleasantly, and became absorbed in a rather noisy bout of repartee going on between one swain and his lass, not so absorbed, however, as not to notice that he and his unconscious neighbors were becoming a covert focus of attention.  He had already noticed a shade of self-consciousness in the greeting of those whom he met, a hint of a suggestion that he was on trial.  Among some this feeling was evidently more pronounced.  He met more than one pair of eyes that gave back to his genial nod cold hostility.

At such an affair as this, Jed Briscoe was always at his best.  He was one of the few men in the valley who knew how to waltz well, and music and rhythm always brought out in him a gay charm women liked.  His lithe grace, his assurance, his ease of manner and speech, always differentiated him from the other ranchmen.

No wonder rumor had coupled his name with that of Arlie as her future husband.  He knew how to make light love by implication, to skate around the subject skilfully and boldly with innuendo and suggestion.

Arlie knew him for what he was—­ a man passionate and revengeful, the leader of that side of the valley’s life which she deplored.  She did not trust him.  Nevertheless, she felt his fascination.  He made that appeal to her which a graceless young villain often does to a good woman who lets herself become interested in trying to understand the sinner and his sins.  There was another reason why just now she showed him special favor.  She wanted to blunt the edge of his anger against the Texan ranger, though her reason for this she did not admit even to herself.

She had—­ oh, she was quite sure of this—­ no longer any interest in Fraser except the impersonal desire to save his life.  Having thought it all over, she was convinced that her friends had nothing to fear from him as a spy.  That was what he had tried to tell her when she would not listen.