dance house, isn't it?"
"Built where two main roads cross, just like they build schoolhouses in places where they need them. People drive as far as sixty miles to attend the dances there, the belles and beaux sabreurs of the range. I wouldn't mind going once more."
"I think I'd kind of like it myself."
"You might take Cattle Kate," she suggested.
"I beg to be excused. I suppose," doubtfully, "it would be all right for you to go over there with that man?"
"Of course. He couldn't very well carry me off on the horn of his saddle—he wouldn't ever think of it, anyway—there isn't romance enough in Dale Findlay for that. No, seriously, Ed, I believe it's a great scheme. If we can get Kate after him like a hornet, she'll skin him alive."
"Yes, but we're overlooking something, Alma. Findlay isn't likely to feel very friendly to you after taking that shot at him up there at the hay-ranch."
"Don't worry over that—Dale isn't one of your onion-skinned men. He's been friendlier than in a long time, I seem to have advanced in his estimation considerably. The provoking part of it is, the wretch persists in it that I only interrupted another of his little jokes."
"If that man gets any funnier somebody will have to speak to him about it," said Barrett. "Has he been around here very much since then?"
"Nearly every day. But not to see me, just. That old sneak Thomson is nearly always with him now. There's some new scheme they're working out between
