"Would you go to the dance with me tonight, mom? These others—they don't git me right. They'll think I didn't dast to shoot it out with him."
The girl hesitated, and the cowpuncher continued. "The transfer train's pulled out an' the trussle won't be fixed 'til mornin', you might's well take in the dance."
Beside her Endicott moved uneasily. "Certainly not!" he exclaimed curtly as his eyes met Purdy's. And then, to the girl, "If you are bound to attend that performance you can go with me."
"Oh, I can go with you, can I?" asked the girl sweetly. "Well thank you so much, Winthrop, but really you will have to excuse me. Mr. Purdy asked me first." There was a sudden flash of daring in her eyes as she turned to the cowpuncher. "I shall be very glad to go," she said; "will you call for me at the car?"
"I sure will," he answered, and turned his eyes toward the flats. This was to be his night, his last on the Wolf River range, he realized savagely. In the morning he must ride very far away. For before the eyes of all Wolf River he had swallowed an insult. And the man knew that Wolf River knew why he did not shoot.
CHAPTER VI
THE RIM OF THE BENCH
Out on the flat the Texan was riding "straight up" amid a whirl of white dust.
"Fan him, Tex!"
"Stay with him!"