“Buck,” exclaimed Moffat, “how did that feller McNeil, and those other cow-punchers, get in here?  You had your orders.”

Mason turned his quid deliberately and spat at the open door.  “You bet I did, Jack,” he responded cheerfully, yet with a trifle of exasperation evident in his eyes.  “And what’s more, I reckon they was obeyed.  There ain’t nobody got in yere ternight without they had a cyard.”

“Well, there has”; and Moffat forgot his natural caution in a sudden excess of anger.  “No invitations was sent them fellers.  Do you mean to say they come in through the roof?”

Mason straightened up, his face darkening, his clinched fist thrashing the air just in front of Moffat’s nose.

“I say they come in yere, right through this door!  An’ every mother’s son of ’em, hed a cyard.  I know what I ‘m a-talkin’ about, you miserable third-class idiot, an’ if you give me any more of your lip I ‘ll paste you good an’ proper.  Go back thar whar you belong, an’ tind to your part of this fandango; I’m a runnin’ mine.”

Moffat hesitated, his brow black as a thunder cloud, but the crowd was manifestly growing restless over the delay, calling “Time!” and “Play ball!” and stamping their feet.  Besides, Buck was never known to be averse to a quarrel, and Moffat’s bump of caution was well developed.  He went back, nursing his wrath and cursing silently.  The crowd greeted his reappearance with prolonged applause, and some of the former consciousness of victory returned.  He glanced down into the questioning eyes of Miss Spencer, cleared his throat, then grasped her hand, and, as they stood there together, all his confidence came surging back.

“Ladies and Gentlemen of Glencaid,” he began gracefully, “as president of the Bachelor Miners’ Pleasure Club, it affords me extreme gratification to welcome you to this the most important social event ever pulled off in this Territory.  It’s going to be a swell affair from the crack of the starter’s pistol to the last post, and you can bet on getting your money’s worth every time.  That’s the sort of hairpins we are—­all wool and a yard wide.  Now, ladies and gents, while it is not designed that the pleasure of this evening be marred by any special formalities, any such unnatural restrictions as disfigure such functions in the effete East [applause], and while I am only too anxious to exclaim with the poet, ’On with the dance, let joy be unconfined’ [great applause], yet it must be remembered that this high-toned outfit has been got up for a special, definite purpose, as a fit welcome to one who has come among us with the high and holy object of instructing our offspring and elevating the educational ideals of this community.  We, of this Bachelors’ Club, may possess no offspring to instruct, but we sympathize with them others who have, and desire to show our interest in the work.  We have here with us to-night one of the loveliest of her sex, a flower of refinement and