“Friday night. Big thing. Y’u want to be there. All y’u lads.”
“Mebbe some of us will ride over.”
He of the polka dot kerchief did not appear quite satisfied. His glance wandered toward the house, as it had been doing occasionally since the moment of his arrival.
“Y’u bet this dance is ace high, Mac. Fancy costumes and masks. Y’u can rent the costumes over to Slauson’s for three per. Texas, he’s going to call the dances. Music from Gimlet Butte. Y’u want to get it tucked away in your thinker that this dance ain’t on the order of culls. No, sirree, it’s cornfed.”
“Glad to hear of it. I’ll cipher out somehow to be there, Slim.”
Slim’s glance took in the ranchhouse again. He had ridden twenty-three miles out of his way to catch a glimpse of the newly arrived mistress of the Lazy D, the report of whose good looks and adventures had traveled hand in hand through many cañons even to the heart of the Tetons. It had been on Skunk Creek that he had heard of her three days before, and now he had come to verify the tongue of rumor, to see her quite casually, of course, and do his own appraising. It began to look as if he were going to have to ride off without a glimpse of her.
He nodded toward the house, turning a shade more purple than his native choleric hue. “Y’u want to bring your boss with y’u, Mac. We been hearing a right smart lot about her and the boys would admire to have her present. It’s going to be strictly according to Hoyle—no rough-house plays go, y’understand.”
“I’ll speak to her about it.” Mac’s deep amusement did not reach the surface. He was quite well aware that Slim was playing for time and that he was too bashful to plump out the desire that was in him. “Great the way cows are jumpin’, ain’t it?”
“Sure. Well, I’ll be movin’ along to Slauson’s. I just drapped in on my way. Thought mebbe y’u hadn’t heard tell of the dance.”
“Much obliged. Was it for old man Slauson y’u dug up all them togs, Slim? He’ll ce’tainly admire to see y’u in that silk tablecloth y’u got round your neck.”