The occasion of the two new suits at the sheriff’s office was a party at the SP ranch, two miles northeast of town, given partly in honor of Mary, but more as a celebration of Edward Hart’s wedding anniversary. Steven Pelliser, owner of the SP, was as much of an old-timer as Edward Hart, and Steven Pelliser liked parties. In fact, he never overlooked a chance to hold a regular fiesta at the SP. Edward Hart had been married nineteen years, and the woman he married had done much in a financial way in the old days to put both Hart and Pelliser on their feet.

Between them they owned quite a lot of Willow Valley. East of town, about two miles away, was the HN outfit, connected brand, owned by Uncle Hoddy Noon, also an old-timer in the Valley. Uncle Hoddy was a little old man, typical of the range country, held down to hard and fast rules of conduct by his fleshy wife, Aunt Ida, who believed that the souls of all drinking men were doomed. Uncle Hoddy said he would rather be doomed than dry, and drank in secret and swore he was captain of his own soul—and ate cloves.

Uncle Hoddy’s thirst was aided and abetted by Caliente Smith and Piute Jones, fifty year old cowboys, to whom Aunt Ida had tried to preach religion for years. They worked for Uncle Hoddy, along with Chris Halvorsen and Ed Lane, the latter being Uncle Hoddy’s son-in-law and foreman.

Aunt Ida’s religious talks did little more than amuse Caliente and Piute, but they gave Aunt Ida considerable satisfaction. Her theme was usually temperance, which brought the idea of a little liquor forcibly to the objects of her discourse, and they usually acted accordingly.

They were all at the SP ranch that night. The Simpson brothers with their violin and bull fiddle; Banty Culler with his guitar; Jeff Miller with a banjo. When Steve Pelliser gave a party it was a case of come and get it.

Mary Pelliser never looked more beautiful than when she came down the old stairway to greet her guests that night. Tall, slender, with a wealth of chestnut hair, an oval face, tanned slightly, red cheeks untouched by rouge. She wore a simple white dress, not made by any of the Willow Valley modistes, and at her throat she wore a gorgeous old cameo.

Jim McGowan met her at the foot of the stairs, assuming a sort of proprietorship over her. Steve Pelliser, tall, gaunt, with serious eyes, stood across the room, smiling proudly at her; but a frown of annoyance flashed for a moment when Jim McGowan took her arm.

Edward Hart, the banker, standing near the door, glanced quickly toward Pelliser and their eyes met. Hart was of medium height, his hair as white as snow. He seemed much older than Pelliser, although they were nearly of an age. Hart had the jaw and lips of a fighter. His wife, several years his junior, stood beside him, a robust woman about his height, dressed in black silk.

* * * * *

With much trepidation the assembled cowboys shook hands with Mary. Many of them had known her for years, but now they looked at her as if she were a stranger. The other girls seemed ill at ease for several moments—until Mary left McGowan to join them. The men grouped by themselves in one corner, laughing at jokes, rolling cigarettes.

“There’s somethin’ in the kitchen,” said Hank Blue, one of the SP cowboys, cautiously. “Steve said to not make a rush, ’cause Uncle Hoddy’s out there and if Aunt Ida ever gets a suspicion—”

Eyebrows lifted knowingly, and the men milled around, losing numbers with great regularity. The door between the kitchen and dining room needed oiling. Every entrance or exit was advertised with a whining squeak. Steve Pelliser watched Aunt Ida closely. She was talking with several other women, but he could see her face and he knew she was listening. Once she got to her feet, but one of the women was explaining something to her and she was obliged to sit down.

Jim McGowan came over close to Steve, as if to speak with him, but someone left the door open and they heard Uncle Hoddy’s voice:

“You don’t need to shush me, I’ll tell you that. I’m old enough to be a daddy to any danged one of you. I’m a man among men.”

“That last part is shore true,” said Caliente, “but if Aunt Ida ever hears or smells—”

Someone shut the door, and the last of the discourse was lost to the ears in the living room. Aunt Ida got up slowly, her cheeks very red, and looked around.

“You will excuse me, I’m sure.” Her voice had a metallic ring. Steve caught her at the doorway and put a hand on her arm.

“Don’t blame Uncle Hoddy,” he said. “It’s all my fault, Aunt Ida.”

“Is it? You admit that you led him into temptation, Steve Pelliser?”

“Well, I—I bought the liquor.”

Caliente started to come out of the kitchen, turned right around and went through the back door, fairly carrying Uncle Hoddy with him.

“You know his weakness,” said Aunt Ida severely.

“Yeah, he can’t stand much liquor.”

“Well, I shall stop any further indulgence.”

Aunt Ida flung open the door and swept grandly into the kitchen. The men were massed around a table, where One Hop, the cook, was pouring out the liquor. Aunt Ida’s eyes quickly searched the group. There was Piute Jones, but of Caliente and Uncle Hoddy there was no trace.

Ed Lane coughed apologetically and Aunt Ida shot him a searching glance.

“Does Julia know you are in here, steeping your soul in this devil’s brew?” she asked.

“She ought to know me, after all these years, Aunt Ida,” he said.

“Mm-m-m-m! I’ll bet she don’t.”

“I’ll bet she will,” meaningly.

“Where’s Hoddy and Caliente?”

“I dunno. Anybody know where they are?”

“Hoddy and Caliente,” said Piute owlishly, “have gone out to pail the cows.”

“Piute Jones, you’re drunk!”

“Mad’m,” replied Piute, “that’s a debatable ques’n.”

“You don’t even know what you’re doing.”

“Debatable, mad’m. I know what you’re doin’.”

“What am I doing?”

“Ruinin’ a perf’ly good party for everybody.”

Aunt Ida went out, slamming the door behind her. In the living room she found Uncle Hoddy and Caliente, seated side by side, very erect and as immovable as two statues. They had sneaked in the front way. To her everlasting credit she said nothing to them, but sat down with the women and resumed the conversation.

Steve Pelliser mopped his eyes, while the two men looked him over gravely.

Jim McGowan was greatly amused, but finally moved over closer to Pelliser.

“I want to talk seriously to you, Steve,” he said softly.

“Seriously?”

“It’s serious with me.”

“Oh, yeah. Well, go ahead, Mac.”

“I want to marry your daughter.”

For several moments Steve Pelliser did not speak. His eyes shifted to Mary and he lifted his head, staring at the opposite wall.

“That is serious,” he said slowly. “Too serious, I’m afraid, Mac. You’re old enough to be her father.”

“What has age to do with it?”

“You’re close to fifty, while she’s twenty-one. That’s a big gap.”

“It’s been done before, Pelliser.”

“Yes, I suppose it has—and to the sorrow of both parties, in many cases. Have you spoken to Mary?”

“No. I wanted your permission first. That is, I wanted you to know my intentions.”

Steve looked squarely at McGowan now, and their eyes met.

“What did you mean by that last remark, McGowan?” asked Pelliser.

“Just what I said.” McGowan’s eyes shifted, his jaw squared. “She’s of age.”

“I reckon I understand your meanin’, now. Yes, she’s of age. And if she wants to marry you against my wishes, I’ll have to stand for it, I reckon.”

McGowan’s fists clenched.

“Against your wishes, Pelliser?”

“That’s what I said. I want her to marry happily, and I don’t think she would be happy with you.”

“Thanks. What have you got against me?”

“You.”

Mary was coming toward them, and Pelliser went to meet her.

“I wonder where Pink Lowry and Dud Evans are?” she asked.

“Oh, I wouldn’t worry about them two, honey. Maybe they had to ride on official business. But they’ll be here. Any time Dud or Pink miss a party, it’s mighty serious.”

* * * * *

McGowan walked past them, heading for the kitchen. Uncle Hoddy and Caliente turned their heads wistfully and watched him go. Aunt Ida looked at them and they froze to their chairs.

“Can’t you get Aunt Ida upstairs?” whispered Steve. “Take her somewhere to give them old boys a chance to sneak.”

Mary shook her head slowly.

“Daddy, she wouldn’t move out of here to catch a glimpse of her favorite heaven. What were you and Jim McGowan quarreling over?”

“We weren’t quarreling.”

“No? I thought you were. Is he an awful good friend of yours?”

“Why?”

“I just wondered if I needed to be especially nice to him.”

Her father laughed shortly.

“I never asked you to be especially nice to anybody, did I?”

“No, but I just wondered. I don’t believe I like him very well.”

“Oh! Well, run along and have a good time.”

And just at that moment Pink Lowry and Dud Evans came in. Some of the boys came from the kitchen at the same time, stopping at the doorway to stare at the two officers. And well they might.

They wore the first dress suits ever seen in the Willow Valley.

“My Gawd!” blurted Caliente Smith, pointing at Pink. “Look at the tiger lily in mournin’!”

Pink shot Caliente a glance of deadly hatred, but kept still, while every one stared at them. It was Mary who broke the spell by stepping forward to welcome them. The men crowded in, all talking at once, and in the confusion both Caliente and Uncle Hoddy made their escape to the kitchen.