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The big young mountaineer, who, despite his discontent, was a very handsome fellow indeed, had held his own against his rivals stubbornly during the evening, but when, after the final dance, he went in search of his charge, he found that he was not first.

She had fallen into her old attitude against the wall, her hands behind her, and was listening to the appeal of a brawny youth with a hunting-knife in his belt.

“Dusk,” he was saying, “I’m not such a chicken hearted chap as to let a gal go back on me. Ye sed I mout hev yer comp’ny home, ‘n’ I’m a-gwine to hev it, Dave Humes or no Dave Humes.”

Dusk merely smiled tolerantly.

“Are ye?” she said.

Rebecca Noble, who stood within a few feet of them, was sure that the lover who approached was the Dave Humes in question, he advanced with such an angry stride, and laying his hand on his rival’s shoulder, turned him aside so cavalierly.

“No he aint,” he put in; “not an’ me about. I brought ye, an’ I’ll take ye home, Lodusky, or me and him ‘ll settle it.”

The other advanced a step, looking a trifle pale and disheveled. He placed himself square in front of Lodusky.

“Dusk Dunbar,” he said, “you’re the one to settle it. Which on us is a-gwine home with ye–me or him? Ye haint promised the two of us, hev ye?”

There was certainly a suddenly lit spark of exultation in the girl’s coolly dropped eyes.

“Settle it betwixt ye,” she answered with her exasperating half smile again.

They had attracted attention by this time, and were becoming the centre figures of a group of lookers-on.

The first had evidently lost his temper. She was the one who should settle it, he proclaimed loudly again. She had promised one man her “comp’ny” and had come with another.

There was so much fierce anger in his face that Miss Noble drew a little nearer, and felt her own blood warmed.

“Which on us is it to be?” he cried.

There was a quick, strong movement on the part of the young man Dave, and he was whirled aside for a second time.

“It’s to be me,” he was answered. “I’m the man to settle that–I don’t leave it to no gal to settle.”

In two seconds the lookers-on fell back in dismay, and there was a cry of terror from the women. Two lithe, long-limbed figures were struggling fiercely together, and there was a flash of knives in the air.

Rebecca Noble sprang forward.

“They will kill each other,” she said. “Stop them!”

That they would have done each other deadly injury seemed more than probable, but there were cool heads and hands as strong as their own in the room, and in a few minutes they had been dragged apart and stood, each held back by the arms, staring at each other and panting. The lank peacemaker in blue jeans who held Dave Humes shook him gently and with amiable toleration of his folly.

“Look ‘ere, boys,” he said, “this yere’s all a pack of foolishness, ye know–all a pack of foolishness. There aint no sense in it–it’s jest foolishness.”

Rebecca cast a quick glance at the girl Lodusky. She leaned against the wall just as she had done before; she was as cool as ever, though the spark which hinted at exultation still shone steadily in her eye.

When the two ladies reached the log-cabin at which they had taken up their abode, they found that the story of the event of the evening was before them. Their hostess, whose habit it was to present herself with erratic talk or information at all hours, met them with hospitable eagerness.

“Waal now,” she began, “jest to think o’ them thar fool boys a-lettin’ into one another in thet tharway. I never hearn tell o’ sich foolishness. Young folks is so foolish. ‘N’ they drord knives?” This is in the tone of suggestive query.

“Yes,” answered Miss Noble, “they drew knives.”