There was a long pause. Elinor hardly knew what to say, and she watched the young man gravely. That he was deeply moved by the memories her own face had conjured up she could plainly see. His lips twitched convulsively and he clenched his hands as if he were trying to choke the thoughts that would rise in his mind. Why had he come away from home and lost himself in this distant place?

They sat thus for some time watching the stars silently. A sympathy had sprung up between them and they seemed to have known each other for a long time.

"What was her name?" she asked at last in a low voice.

"Elinor," he burst out. "Elinor, the same as yours," and he turned his face away.

Perhaps he was crying. Elinor never knew, although it seemed strange for a big splendid cowboy to shed tears.

"I'm so sorry for you," she said kindly, and laid her hand on his arm, a great piece of condescension for her. "Touch-me-not" was a nick-name given her long ago by her friends.

"Oh, Elinor, Elinor," he exclaimed, taking her hand in his, "if you could only understand what the sight of your face and the sound of your voice mean to me! If you could only know what I have lost by my folly, my wretched, miserable folly!"

"Aren't you ever going back?" she asked, and she did not withdraw her hand.

"It's too late now," he said. "She hates me-they all hate me!"

"Are you sure?" she persisted.

"Perfectly certain."

"Elinor, dear, I think you had better come back, now," called Miss Campbell, who never let her girls out of her sight for long.

"Is Blackstone your real name?" Elinor asked as they paused before the door of the dancing room.

"My real name," he replied, "is Algernon Blackstone de Willoughby Winston."

Elinor repeated the names after him and buried them deep in her mind.

A Virginia reel was forming and Mrs. Steptoe has asked as an especial favor if the young ladies would not dance. Nancy had given her hand to Jim for the dance. It was the third time she had bestowed this honor upon him, and with unconcealed joy he stood at the top of the line ready to lead off. Billie was dancing with Barney McGee. Mary had accepted Brek Steptoe as a partner and Elinor, with Algernon Blackstone de Willoughby Winston now joined the line.

There were only three or four other women including Mrs. Steptoe, and for the rest, cowboys and ranchmen danced together with perfect good nature.

How strange it seemed to Miss Campbell, her four girls dancing among these queer people. No wonder the other dancers forgot the figures of the reel while they drank in the picture of their fresh young faces. It was to them as if a garden of roses had suddenly sprung up in the desert.

"Down the center," called the musician. "Now, right and left all around."

The fiddle whined. The guitar thrummed pa.s.sionately. Miss Campbell's head was in a whirl.

"Ought we to have taken the risk of this visit?" she kept saying. "When one is traveling one must have experiences," her thoughts continued.

"Besides, what harm can come of it? They are rough, kindly people, and have taken so much trouble to give us this entertainment. But I really don't care for all this noise and dust. I hope I shall never go to another one."

The little lady leaned her head wearily against the wall and closed her eyes. An arm slipped around her waist. It was Elinor, who having danced her turn had quietly joined her. Her partner had disappeared in the courtyard.

The two women exchanged meaning glances. The noisy dance, the jingling spurs of the cowboys as the dancers came down the middle, and an occasional loud laugh did not appeal to Elinor either.

"We must excuse ourselves, dear," Miss Campbell was saying, when suddenly the courtyard resounded with a loud cry.

"You insufferable, black-livered hound," came the voice of Algernon Blackstone de Willoughby Winston, "if I catch you sneaking around here again with your knives, I'll throw you out to the coyotes."

The dance continued, and only one dancer dropped out. Either they had not heard the disturbance, or else such disturbances were too common to notice. It was, consequently, Rosina Steptoe alone, with face aflame and eyes snapping like two little wells of fire, who signed to her partner and approached the doorway. She was too angry to notice how near Miss Campbell and Elinor were sitting to the open door.

"Tony, how dare you speak to my brother like that," she hissed into the court. "I told you before I wouldn't have it."

"Nonsense, Rosina, your brother deserves a good thrashing for his tricks. I just caught his arm as he was about to throw this dagger into the room."

"It was only a little joke, Rosy," whined her brother.

"Joke be hanged," broke in the Englishman, "how dare you attempt to frighten these ladies by such a joke. Try it again and I'll keep my word."

"Don't you be so interferin' with the Hawkes family," cried Rosina shrilly.

Miss Campbell rose. The dance was just reaching a climax with its final right and left all round. She beckoned to the girls.

"If you don't mind, Mrs. Steptoe, I think we'll say good-night. We've had a long day. The entertainment has been most delightful."

Rosina became humble under the gaze of the elegant little woman.

"I will show you to your rooms," she said meekly.

They bade the company a general good night, and it was not long before they had locked themselves into their bedrooms, and following Miss Campbell's instructions, had pushed the heaviest piece of furniture in the room against each door.

CHAPTER XII.-INTO THE WILDERNESS.

Steptoe Lodge in the morning was very different from Steptoe Lodge at night. The dark courtyard, full of shifting shadows, was now a clean and open s.p.a.ce bright with new light.

Miss Campbell alone of the motor party had not slept well because she had been afraid to open her windows. She had cautioned the girls against opening their's, but Billie had flatly rebelled.

"I cannot sleep in a vacuum, Cousin Helen, and if anyone were tall enough to crawl in the window, we could among us make enough noise to raise the roof off the house."

But the night had been peaceful and the cheerfulness of the June morning with the sweet scents of the innumerable wild flowers which starred the plains, dispelled Miss Campbell's fears.

Someone was singing in the courtyard, a song which Elinor knew and loved.

"Hark, hark, the lark from Heaven's gate sings, And Phoebus 'gins arise, His steeds to water at those springs On chaliced flowers that lies; And winking Mary-buds begin to ope their golden eyes: With everything that pretty is, my lady sweet, arise, Arise, arise."

"It's Mr. Wins--," she broke off, "Mr. Blackstone, I mean."

"Isn't it strange that he should be here among these rough uneducated people," observed Mary, thoughtfully. "Did he tell you anything about himself last night, Elinor?"

But Elinor kept her own counsel. She was not one to tell the secrets of others even to her own particular, intimate friends and she knew that what Algernon Blackstone de Willoughby Winston had confided to her the night before, he had meant for her ears alone.

A tap on the door, however, interrupted her guarded reply.

It was Barney McGee. Would any of the young ladies like a gallop on the plains before breakfast?