The Fighting Shepherdess

Of its kind, it was as thrilling a moment as Prouty had experienced. Mrs. Myron Neifkins had recognized Kate immediately and passed the word along to Mrs. Pantin who, although a comparative stranger, had been properly supplied with information as to the community's undesirables. "Mormon Joe's Kate," the daughter of the notorious Jezebel of the Sand Coulee Roadhouse, naturally was included in the list.

Hugh, who had met these ladies previously and found them as amiable as any one could wish--particularly Mrs. Pantin, who had regarded him as somebody to cultivate because of his connection with the exclusive Toomeys of the Scissor Ranch--now had something of the sensation of a person who had stepped into the frigid atmosphere of a cold storage plant.

Mrs. Pantin's eyes had all the warm friendliness of two blue china knobs and her thin lips were closed until her mouth looked merely a vivid scratch. Yet, somehow, the boy managed to say with his manner of deferential courtesy: "Mrs. Pantin, do you know Miss Prentice?"

Ordinarily, a part of Mrs. Pantin's society manner was a vivacious chirp, but now she said coldly between her teeth: "I haven't that pleasure." She gave Kate her extreme finger tips with such obvious reluctance that the action was an affront.

Disston glanced at Mrs. Sudds in the hope of finding friendliness. That lady had drawn herself up like an outraged tragedy queen. No one would have dreamed, seeing Mrs. Sudds at the moment with her air of royal hauteur, that in bygone days she had had her own troubles making twelve dollars a week as a stenographer.

His glance passed on to Mrs. Neifkins, who was picking at a French knot in a spasm of nervousness lest Kate betray the fact that they had met.

Disston was aware that Mrs. Neifkins knew Kate and his lip curled at her cowardice. He raised his head haughtily; he would not subject his partner to further rebuffs.

"Come on, Katie," he said, curtly, and they passed into the dining room.

The girl's cheeks were flaming as they sat down on the chairs ranged against the wall.

"Hughie," her fingers were like ice as she clasped them together in her lap. "What's the matter? Do I look--queer?"

He answered shortly: "You're all right."

They sat watching the crowd file in. Suddenly Hughie exclaimed in obvious relief: "There's Teeters, and Maggie Taylor and her mother! Wait here--I'll bring them over."

He went up to them with assurance, for their friendliness and hospitality had been marked upon the several occasions that he had accompanied Teeters, who always had some transparent excuse for stopping at their ranch.