"No more than I do you; but I've ridden the range for ten years around here, and I know that he's new to these parts. If I'd ever glimpsed him before, I'd remember him. He'd be a bad man in a mix, eh?"
And Pierre answered with devout earnestness:
"He would."
"But where 'd you buy those duds, pal? Hey, look! Here's what I've been waiting for—the Barneses and the girl that's visitin' 'em from the East."
"What girl?"
"Look!"
The Barnes group was passing through the door, and last came the unmistakable form of Dick Wilbur, masked, but not masked enough to hide his familiar smile or cover the well-known sound of his laughter as it drifted to Pierre across the hall, and on his arm was a girl in an evening dress of blue, with a small, black mask across her eyes, and deep-golden hair.
Pausing before she swung into the dance with Wilbur, she made a gesture with the white arm, and looked up laughing to big, handsome Dick. Pierre trembled, and his heart beat once and stopped.
As he watched, the song which Dick had sung came like a monotonous, religious chant within him:
They call me poor, yet I am rich
In the touch of her golden hair;
My heart is filled like a raiser's hands
With the red-gold of her hair.
