“I’m so glad you came,” said Mary chokingly.

“Oh, we’d shore come,” grinned Pink. “Try to keep us away.”

Pink was resplendent in the red and black silk shirt, which was not at all subdued, the glaring yellow tie fairly shrieking against it. Dud wore a green silk shirt and a bright red tie, pinned to the bosom of his shirt with an immense bejeweled horseshoe. The tails of Pink’s coat nearly reached the floor. That is, one tail did. The other was hiked up over the butt of a heavy Colt revolver, which Pink wore in one of his hip pockets in lieu of a belt and holster. Dud wore his gun stuck inside the waistband of his trousers, blousing his shirt over the butt.

Both men went around shaking hands, followed by amazed eyes. Pink shook hands violently with Aunt Ida.

“Where’s Uncle Hoddy?” he asked.

She craned her neck past Pink and looked at the empty chairs.

“He’s gone,” she said in a hoarse whisper.

“Yeah?” Pink stared at her. “You don’t mean he—died?”

“If I don’t stop him, he might.” She jumped to her feet and headed for the kitchen.

A look of understanding overspread Pink’s face and he turned to meet Jim McGowan. McGowan was looking him over in an insolent, amused way, and Pink’s ears reddened quickly.

“Well, go ahead and say it,” said Pink coldly.

McGowan laughed shortly.

“Are you trying to be funny, Lowry?”

Pink’s blue eyes narrowed. Trying to be funny! He did not understand.

“This wasn’t no masquerade, you know,” said McGowan.

Possibly a dozen people heard that remark. Pink looked down at his new clothes, at the riot of color on his bosom. Masquerade! He looked up, but McGowan was walking away, grinning. Mary had heard some of it. Pink looked at her. She was not laughing at him. Then he turned and went into the kitchen.

Pink had made up his mind not to touch a drink, but he needed something now. He was not mad; he was hurt. Besides Mary and McGowan, none of the people considered his garb incongruous. They did not understand. Pink realized that neither he nor Dud looked like the man in the little catalogue, but he did not know that their shirts, ties and boots were out of place with dress clothes. He knew now.

Dud was out there drinking with the men, explaining about the new suits.

“They’re the latest thing in Sunday clothes,” he told them. “They call these the ‘show your shirt’ coats. Pretty slick, eh? Well, here’s m’ best regards. Somebody give Pink a glass, will you? Another glass, One Hop. That’s the boy! What’s th’ matter, Pink?”

“Nothin’ the matter with Pink,” chorused several.

“Open and above board,” laughed another.

“You jist missed out, Pink,” laughed Jerry Dole. “Aunt Ida jist saved Uncle Hoddy from temptation. He ain’t had more than a quart. She tried to save Caliente, but the old boy was goin’ down for the last time, and her rope was too short. He’s settin’ on the wood box.”

But Pink was in no laughing mood. He was getting over his hurt, and anger was taking its place.

“I’ll take another,” he said seriously. “That stuff ain’t strong.”

Steve Pelliser had seen it all and wondered what it was about. Then Mary told him what McGowan had said.

“Well, wasn’t them suits all right, honey?” he asked.

“You wouldn’t understand, Daddy. They were all wrong. But what does it matter? Oh, I felt so sorry for Pink. He’s hurt deeply and I’m afraid he’s hurt at me.”

“I don’t think so. Pink’s no fool. Sa-a-ay!” He took her by the shoulders and looked her in the eyes. “You seem to be a heap interested in Pink Lowry’s feelin’s.”

Mary flushed quickly, but her eyes did not draw away when she replied:

“Pink is one of our guests, Daddy. I would insult myself if I said or did anything wrong toward him tonight.”

“Do you consider McGowan’s talk as an insult to you?”

“Don’t you?”

Pelliser sighed deeply.

“I dunno much about such things, Mary.”

“Maybe we better forget it for this time. At least Pink was too much of a gentleman to resent it.”

* * * * *

The orchestra was tuning up in the dining room and Jerry Dole, who called all the Willow Wells dances, was yelling for everybody to take partners for a quadrille. McGowan hurried to find Mary, only to be told that she was engaged for the first dance. McGowan frowned, but said nothing except that he was sorry.

“Two more couple!” yelled Jerry. “Two more couple!”

Mary realized her predicament. No one had asked her for the first dance. She stepped to the door of the dining room, with McGowan standing just behind her.

“One more couple!” yelled Jerry. “Jist one more couple!”

Pink came from the kitchen and Mary motioned for him to take her. He did not understand for several moments, and she walked toward him, motioning at the vacant spot in the set. Then he understood. Jim McGowan also understood. He shut his jaw tightly, turned and walked back to the front of the room, where he rolled a cigarette, thinking blackly.

Finally he went outside, closing the door behind him. Steve Pelliser and Dud Evans were still in the kitchen, while the house resounded with the strains of “Money Musk” and the trampling of heavy feet.

“Did you and Pink stable your horses?” asked Steve.

“Didn’t bother about it, Steve. Tied ’em to the fence.”

“I’ll have one of the boys stable ’em. You won’t go home until late, and there’s no use havin’ ’em stand out there all night. How about one more jolt?”

“Fine.”

Someone called to Dud and he left the kitchen. Steve talked for a few moments with One Hop about the supper and then went outside, where he untied the two horses and took them to the stable.

Mary knew that Pink was hurt. He did not join in the laughter and good-natured joking with the rest. He got all mixed up in the changes, which was unusual with Pink, for he was a good dancer.

“I hope you will have a good time,” she said timidly, when they stopped after the first set.

“I’m havin’ a good time,” he said wearily. “I—I just don’t feel so good.”

“I wouldn’t let McGowan hurt my feelings, Pink.”

“Oh, him!”

The music started again, cutting off further conversation, and after the dance was over he thanked Mary and walked away. He wanted to be alone; he walked through the kitchen and went outside. One Hop was on the back porch, turning the handle of an ice cream freezer, which creaked loudly. It was dark out there.

Pink stepped off the porch and walked slowly down toward the corral. His first impulse was to get on his horse and go home, but he decided that such a move would be unkind to Steve and Mary. He went down to the corral, where he sat down on a pile of old lumber. No one would see him there in the dark, and he could think things over calmly.

He heard the stable door shut with a loud bang. Someone came out on the kitchen porch and talked with One Hop, and he could hear the music of a slow waltz. He wondered who Mary was dancing with this time. Pink loved to waltz, and he had dreamed of waltzing with Mary. He got to his feet and leaned against the corral fence, looking toward the open doorway where the lamplight streamed out on the white-clad cook, bent over the freezer.

Suddenly a gun flashed in the dark. The bullet thudded into a post behind Pink and almost before the echo had been thrown back from the side of the house, Pink had drawn his gun and fired at the flash. It was all done so quickly that the two guns were discharged but a few seconds apart. Men were coming out from the kitchen, crowding on to the porch, looking for the cause of the shots. One Hop jabbered in Chinese and tried to tell them.

They were running down toward the corral before Pink left the fence.

“Down here!” he yelled hoarsely. “Somebody shot at me!”

“Is that you, Pink?” asked the sheriff. “What was it? Who was shooting?”

“I shot once, Dud. Somebody took a shot at me in the dark. Bullet hit the fence behind me. No, I don’t know who it was. They got away, all right.”

“No, they didn’t!” called one of the boys near the stable.

“Get a light; somebody got hurt.”

They moved to the spot, where the sheriff lighted a match, illuminating the features of Jim McGowan. He was flat on his back in the dirt, his right arm outflung, his fingers gripping a heavy Colt revolver. One of the men ran to the stable and secured a lantern.

“He’s dead, boys,” said Dud softly. “My Gawd, what a dead-center shot!”

He removed the gun from McGowan’s fingers and shoved it inside the waistband of his trousers. By that time all the men were down there, and the women were out on the porch, trying to get answers to their questions.

“This is awful,” said Steve Pelliser.

“He shot at me first,” said Pink hoarsely. “I didn’t even know who it was.”

“That’ll do to tell,” said Scotty McGowan.

“Drop all that kinda talk, Scotty,” said the sheriff warningly. “This is no time to make bad breaks. One dead man is enough at a time.”

“I can look out for myself.”

“Damn’ right,” growled Sam Hall.

“The sheriff is right, boys,” said Pelliser quickly. “Cool off first. There was no reason for McGowan to shoot at Pink.”

“No-o-o?” Scotty’s voice was high-pitched. “When a girl—”

“Drop that!” snapped Pelliser quickly.

“Oh, well, I reckon we all know.”

* * * * *