Andy regarded her with an aloofness totally new to her. “Wal, I’ll tell him. But I reckon Tex ain’t presentable just now. An’ all of us are through dancin’ tonight. There’s been a little fight.”
“Oh, no!” cried Jane. “Who?”
“Wal, when you cut Tex’s dance for Beady Jones, you sure put our outfit in bad,” replied Andy coldly. “At thet, there wouldn’t have been anythin’ come of it here if Beady Jones hadn’t got to shootin’ off his chin. Tex slapped his face an’ thet sure started a fight. Beady licked Tex, too, I’m sorry to say. Wal, we had a dickens of a time keepin’ Nevada out of it. But we kept them apart till Springer come out. An’ what the boss said to thet outfit was sure aplenty. Beady Jones kept talkin’ back, nasty like—you know he was once foreman for us—till Springer got good an’ mad. An’ he said: ‘Jones, I fired you once because you was a little too slick for our outfit, an’ I’ll tell you this, if it comes to a pinch I’ll give you the blamest thrashin’ any smart-aleck cowboy ever got.’ You can bet that shut Beady Jones’ loud mouth.”
After that rather lengthy speech, Andy left her unceremoniously standing there alone. Jane looked for Springer, hoping yet fearing he would come to her. But he did not. She had another uninterrupted dizzy round of dancing until her strength failed. At four o’clock she was scarcely able to walk. Her pretty dress was torn and mussed; her slippers were worn ragged. And her feet were dead. From that time she sat with Mrs. Hartwell looking on, and trying to keep awake.
At length the exodus began. Jane went out with the Hartwells, to be received by Springer, who was decidedly cool to Jane. All through the long ride out to the ranch he never addressed her. Springer’s sister, and the matronly housekeeper were waiting for them, with cheery welcome, and invitation to a hot breakfast.
Presently Jane found herself momentarily alone with the rancher. “Miss Stacey,” he said, in a voice she had never heard, “your flirtin’ with Beady Jones made trouble for the Springer outfit.”
“Mr. Springer!” she exclaimed, her head going up.
“Excuse me,” he returned, in cutting, dry tone that recalled Tex. Indeed, this westerner was a cowboy, the same as those who rode for him, only a little older, and therefore more reserved and careful of speech. “If it wasn’t that—then you sure were much taken with Mr. Beady Jones.”
“If that was anybody’s business it might have appeared so,” she retorted, tingling all over with some feeling she could not control. “He was a splendid dancer. He did not maul me like a bear. I really had a chance to breathe during my dances with him. Then, too, he could talk.”
Springer bowed with dignity. His dark face paled. It dawned upon Jane that there was something intense in the moment. She began to repent of her hasty pride.