CHAPTER V
THE ROCKY MOUNTAIN BALL
It was the day of the ball. Parties of mountaineers, some onhorseback, some in wagons, started for Jamison Ranch.
In the early evening, a wagon load made up of the members of theClayton household, Kenneth Hastings and some Scotch neighbors, startedfor the same destination.
The road skirted the foothills for some distance, then followed thecanyon several miles; and then, branching off, led directly to JamisonRanch. As the twilight deepened into night, Nature took on a solemnand mysterious beauty. The rugged outline of the mountains, the valleyand river below,--were all idealized in the softening light. The NewEngland girl sat drinking in the wonder of it all. The mountains werespeaking to her good tidings of great joy.
In the midst of merry chatter, some one called out:
"Sing us a song, Miss Bright."
It was Kenneth Hastings. Hearing her name, she roused from herreverie.
"A song?"
"Yes, do sing," urged several.
"Sing 'Oft in the Stilly Night,'" suggested Mrs. Clayton.
"All sing with me," responded Esther.
Then out on the stillness floated the beautiful old Irish song. Othervoices joined Esther's. Kenneth Hastings was one of the singers. Hisvoice blended with hers and enriched it.
Song after song followed, all the company participating to some extentin the singing.
Was it the majesty of the mountain scenery that inspired Esther, thatsent such a thrill of gladness into her voice? Or was it perhaps thewitchery of the moonlight? Whatever may have been the cause, a newquality appeared in her voice, and stirred the hearts of all wholistened to her singing; it was deep and beautiful.
What wonder if Kenneth Hastings came under the spell of the song andthe singer? The New England girl was a breath of summer in the hardand wintry coldness of his life.
"Who taught you to sing?" he asked abruptly.
"The birds," she answered, in a joyous, laughing tone.
"I can well believe that," he continued, "but who were your otherinstructors?"
Then, in brief, she told him of her musical training.
Would she sing one of his favorite arias some day? naming the aria.
She hummed a snatch of it.
"Go on," he urged.
"Not now; some other time."
"Won't you give us an evening recital soon?" asked John Clayton.
And then and there the concert was arranged for.
"Miss Bright," said Mrs. Carmichael, "I am wondering how we ever goton without you."
Esther laughed a light-hearted, merry laugh.
"That's it," Kenneth hastened to say. "We 'got on.' We simply existed.Now we live."
All laughed at this.
"You are not complimentary to our friends. I protest," said Esther.
"You are growing chivalrous, Kenneth," said Mrs. Clayton. "I'm gladyou think as we do. Miss Bright, you have certainly enriched life forall of us."
"Don't embarrass me," said Esther in a tone that betrayed she was alittle disconcerted.
But now they were nearing their journey's end. The baying of houndsannounced a human habitation. An instant later, the house was insight, and the dogs came bounding down the road, greeting the partywith vociferous barks and growls. Mr. Jamison followed, profuse inwords of welcome.
As Kenneth assisted Esther from the wagon, he said:
"Your presence during this drive has given me real pleasure."
Her simple "Thank you" was her only response.
At the door they were met by daughters of the house, buxom lasses, whoushered them into an immense living room. This opened into two otherrooms, one of which had been cleared for dancing.
Esther noted every detail,--a new rag carpet on the floor; a bright-coloredlog-cabin quilt on one of the beds; on the other bed, was a quilt of white,on which was appliqued a menagerie of nondescript animals of red and greencalico, capering in all directions. The particular charm of this work ofart was its immaculate quilting,--quilting that would have made ourgreat-grandmothers green with envy.
Cheap yellow paper covered the walls of the room. A chromo, "FastAsleep," framed in heavy black walnut, hung close to the ceiling. Asewing machine stood in one corner.
At first, Esther did not notice the human element in the room.Suddenly a little bundle at the foot of the bed began to grunt. Shelifted it, and found a speck of humanity about three months old. Inhis efforts to make his wants known, and so secure his rightfulattention, he puckered his mouth, doubled up his fists, grew red inthe face, and let forth lusty cries.
As she stood trying to soothe the child, the mother rushed in,snatched it from the teacher's arms, and gave it a slap, saying as shedid so, "The brat's allus screechin' when I wanter dance!"
She left the babe screaming vociferously, and returned to dance. Fourother infants promptly entered into the vocal contest, while theirrespective parents danced in the adjoining room, oblivious ofeverything save the pleasure of the hour. Then it was that the NewEngland girl became a self-appointed nurse, patting and soothing firstone, then another babe; but it was useless. They had been brought tothe party under protest; and offended humanity would not be mollified.
The teacher stepped out into the living room, which was in festivearray. Its picturesqueness appealed to her. A large fire crackled onthe hearth, and threw its transforming glow over the dingy adobewalls, decorated for the occasion with branches of fragrant silverspruce. Blocks of pine tree-trunks, perhaps two feet in height, stoodin the corners of the room. Each of these blocks contained a dozen ormore candle sockets, serving the purpose of a candelabrum. Each of thesockets bore a lighted candle, which added to the weirdness of thescene.
The room was a unique background for the men and women gathered there.At least twenty of the mountaineers had already assembled. They hadcome at late twilight, and would stay till dawn, for their journeylay over rough mountain roads and through dangerous passes.
The guests gathered rapidly, laughing and talking as they came.
It was a motley crowd,--cowboys, in corduroy, high boots, spurs,slouch hats, and knives at belt, brawny specimens of human kind;cowlasses, who for the time, had discarded their masculine attire ofshort skirts, blouse, belt and gun, for feminine finery; Scotchmen inHighland costume; Mexicans in picturesque dress; English folk, clad inmodest apparel; and Irishmen and Americans resplendent in colorsgalore.
For a moment, Esther stood studying the novel scene. Mr. Clayton,observing her, presented her to the individuals already assembled. Thelast introduction was to a shambling, awkward young miner. Aftershaking the hand of the teacher, which he did with a vigor quitecommensurate to his elephantine strength, he blurted out, "Will yezdance a polky wid me?"
She asked to be excused, saying she did not dance.
"Oh, but I can learn yez," he said eagerly. "Yez put one fut so, andthe other _so_," illustrating the step with bovine grace as he spoke.
His efforts were unavailing, so he found a partner among thecowlasses.
Again Esther was alone. She seated herself near one of the improvisedpine candelabra, and continued to study the people before her. Hereshe found primitive life indeed, life close to the soil. How to get atthese people, how to learn their natures, how to understand theirneeds, how to help them,--all these questions pressed upon her. Ofthis she was sure:--she must come in touch with them to help them.Men and women older and more experienced than she might well have knittheir brows over the problem.
She was roused to a consciousness of present need by a piercing cryfrom one of the infants in the adjoining room. The helpless cry of achild could never appeal in vain to such a woman as Esther Bright. Shereturned to the bedroom, lifted the wailing bundle in her arms, seatedherself in a rocker, and proceeded to quiet it. Kenneth Hastings stoodwatching her, while an occasional smile flitted across his face. AsJohn Clayton joined him, the former said in a low tone:
"Do you see Miss Bright's new occupation, John?"
"So do I, John. I wish I were more like her myself in unselfishinterest in people."
"She has done you great good already, Kenneth."
"Yes, I know."
Then a shadow darkened Kenneth's face. He moved toward the outer doorthat stood open, and looked out into the night.
At last Esther's task was accomplished, the babe was asleep, and shereturned to the scene of the dancing. Kenneth sought her and asked herto dance the next waltz with him. She assured him, also, that she didnot dance.
"Let me teach you," he urged. But she shook her head.
"You do not approve of dancing?" he asked, lifting his brows.
"I did not say I do not approve of dancing; I said I do not dance. Bythe way," she said, changing the subject of the conversation, "mylessons in riding are to begin to-morrow, are they not?"
"To-morrow, if I may have the pleasure. Do you think riding wicked,too?"
This he said with a sly twinkle in his eye.
"Wicked, too?" she echoed. "What's the 'too' mean?"
"Dancing, of course."
"But I didn't say I thought dancing wicked. I said I do not dance."
"Oh, well, you think it wicked, or you would dance."
She looked amused.
"What would you say if I should tell you I learned to dance yearsago?"
"That you are strait-laced obstinacy personified. Why not dance? Itcould do you no harm."
"It is not expedient, that is all. Let me tell you I really did learn.I am not an accomplished dancer, though. I was taught to dance in aschool I attended. But I have never danced in social life."
"Why not put aside your scruples for once," he urged, "and dance thenext waltz with me? You don't know what pleasure it would give me."
But she still refused. He saw that to pursue the matter further wouldbe useless. The conversation was interrupted by the entrance ofcowboys and cowlasses, who, as they filed past, were presented to herby Kenneth Hastings.
"How are ye?" asked one husky fellow, gripping Esther's hand like avise.
"Happy ter know yer acquaintance," said another.
The girls snickered and looked foolish, keeping time to the music withthe tapping of their feet.
"You like to dance, I see," said Esther to one girl.
"You bet I do!"
The girl's jaws kept time to the music as she vigorously chewed gum.
"Come, Jim," said another loud-voiced cowlass, "that's our set."
And away they went, hand in hand, edging their way through the crowdedrooms. Soon they were in the midst of the boisterous dancers.
Kenneth joined the human fringe around the dance room. He stoodwatching as though what he saw amused him.
"Swing y'r pardners," shouted the fiddler, above the din of voices.Down came the bow across the strings, that responded in shrill,piercing notes. Around flew the dancers, their cheeks growing redderand redder. The clatter of the cowboys' spurs, and the tapping of thefiddler's foot kept time to the music.
While watching the dancers, Kenneth discovered Jessie Roth, a youngScotch girl, in from the range. As soon as he could do so, hepresented her to Esther Bright. Jessie responded to the introductionawkwardly and shyly; but as she looked into Esther's face, she seemedto gain confidence. It was such a kindly, such a sympathetic face.
Jessie was a girl Esther had long been wishing to meet, and tointerest in better things. She was at heart good, and if wiselydirected would undoubtedly exercise a wholesome influence over othergirls. As the teacher expressed her interest in her, and what theymight do together, Jessie's face beamed.
"Mr. Hastings telt me aboot y'r Bible school, an' how ye wantit me taecome. Did ye?"
"Indeed I did."
"Dae ye want mony mair tae come?"
"Yes, as many as you can bring, Jessie."
Then the two took seats in the corner of the room, and Esther gave heran enthusiastic account of her plans for the Gila girls. The Scotchgirl listened, with an occasional comment.
"Do you like the life on the range, Jessie?"
"Rael weel! Y're as free as the air!"
Here the girl gave her body and arms a swing, as though ready to leapto the back of a running horse. She seemed all muscle.
"My mustang's the best friend I hev. I broke 'er mysel'. My! She cangae like the wind!"
"You!" said the astonished teacher. "Can you break a horse?"
"Can I?" she repeated in amusement. "I'd like tae show ye. I wad liketae tak ye oot on the range wi' me. My, but ye'd like it!"
"No doubt. What do you do out on the range?"
"Oh, we rides an' rides an' looks after the cattle; we cooks, an'plays cards, an' joshes the boys."
Here Jessie laughed.
"What a dreary life this must be," thought Esther. She said aloud,"You must find the life monotonous and lonely."
"Never lonely, schoolma'am. It's full o' excitement. There's somethin'doin' all the time. Sometime ye sees herds o' antelope, or ye meets agrizzly. It's better'n a dance tae bring down a grizzly."
"A bear?" the teacher exclaimed in astonishment. "You don't mean tosay you ever killed a bear?"
The cowlass's eyes sparkled as she said proudly:
"I've shot several, an' other big game too. But the greatest thing onthe range is tae see a stampede o' cattle. It's as much as y'r life'sworth tae be in their way."
The girl, though rough, had a vitality and picturesqueness attractiveto the polished New Englander.
It was equally certain that Esther was attractive to the cowlass.Jessie left her for a moment, but soon returned, bringing three otherswith her. After presenting them, she said:
"Tell 'em, schoolma'am, what ye telt me."
"Tell what, Jessie?"
"Oh, aboot the Bible school an' the parties, an' how ye wants tae daesomethin' fer the lasses."
Then Esther briefly outlined her plans, during which they occasionallyinterrupted her by questions or comments.
"Do you mean, schoolma'am, that y're willin' to learn us outside o'school hours?"
"Yes."
"Y're mighty good. I love ye already," said one lass.
"But we're sae auld," said Jessie.
"No, you're not. You're not old,--not too old to study."
"Yes, schoolma'am, that's what mother used tae say," said Jessie in asofter tone. She turned her face aside. Another girl whispered toEsther, "Her father killed her mother when he was drunk."
Esther slipped her arm around Jessie's waist, and continued to speakher plans, and how much their co-operation would mean to her.
"Git y'r pardners!" shouted the fiddler.
Soon the lasses were led away to the dance; and for the time, nothingmore was said of their plans; but Esther Bright knew that of all thedays' work she had done in Gila, this would probably count the most.
The rooms were now crowded with people. The huge candles burned lower;the air grew more stifling; the noise more tiring.
As she looked up, she met the gaze of a young English girl, whoflushed and turned her eyes away. An instant later, Kenneth Hastingsseated himself by Esther and began speaking.
"I was glad to see you talking with the cowlasses, for they need thegentle, refining influence that you can bring them." He was evidentlydeeply in earnest. "You have no idea how full of peril their life is.You see there is something in this bold, free life of exposure thatalmost unsexes a woman. Some of the cowlasses are good-hearted, honestgirls, but many are a hard lot. Your womanly influence would helpthem."
As he spoke, he caught sight of the girl who, a moment before, hadattracted Esther's attention.
"Do you see that girl with the cameo-like face?" he asked.
"Yes."
"I have been hoping you could save that child. She can't be more thanseventeen, if she is that. What her pre
vious history is I do not know;but it is evident she has had gentle breeding."
"What a sweet face she has!"
"Yes. Lovely, isn't it? Like a flower."
"What is her name?" Esther looked sympathetically at the girlishfigure.
"Earle--Carla Earle. She lives at Keith's. I see her often with MarkClifton, a young Englishman here. He is a wild fellow. She is shy ofeveryone else."
"Poor child!" said Esther, glancing toward her.
"I made bold to speak to her one day, and invited her to come to yourBible school. I believe if you could meet her you would be hersalvation."
Esther looked up with a grave question in her eyes.
"Well?" he asked.
"You invite her to come to the Bible school, but do not come yourself,do not offer to help."
"It does seem inconsistent, doesn't it? I will try to explain."
He studied the cracks in the floor.
"You see, I have felt that I would be a hypocrite if I came. I knownothing about religion; at least, I knew nothing about it until Ibegan to find it in you."
"And yet religion is the great question of life. I wonder that, withyour habit of thought, you have not been attracted to the study ofphilosophy and religion."
"Some of the most materialistic men I have known," he replied, "havebeen students of philosophy and religion. They seemed anything butreligious. But your religion is practical. You live it. You make menbelieve in your religion, make them believe it is the one real thingof life. I need to be taught of you."
"Please bring this young girl to me, or take me to her," sheresponded.
Together they sought Carla Earle. As Esther was introduced, sheclasped Carla's hand, and began to talk to her of England. Kennethexcused himself, and the two girls took seats in the corner where hehad left them. At first Carla avoided looking into the face of hercompanion. When she did gain courage to look up, she saw that Esther'sface was full of tenderness. What could it mean? Sympathy for her?Carla Earle? Her chest rose and fell. Suddenly she hid her face inher hands, while suppressed sobs shook her frame.
Quickly, Esther slipped her arm about her, and drew her to the opendoor, and out into the clear night air. There, Nature seemed full ofpeace. Up and down, the two walked in the moonlight, talking in low,earnest tones. Often they paused and looked up into the heavens. Oncethe English girl bowed her head on the New England girl's shoulder,and wept bitterly. The teacher listened, listened to a story whosepathos touched her heart. Then she said gently:
"You know right from wrong. Leave the wrong life. Come to me forshelter, until I can find a home for you where you will be safe, and Ihope, contented."
"Oh, I can't," sobbed Carla, "I am so unhappy!"
"I know you can leave if you will," Esther said firmly. "You will havestrength and courage given you to do right. It is wrong for you tocontinue in the life you are now living."
Carla shuddered. She was still weeping.
"God will never forgive me," she said. "He has forsaken me."
She seemed utterly hopeless.
"God always forgives those who come to Him penitent, Carla. He has notforsaken you; you have forsaken Him. I am glad you and I have foundeach other. Perhaps I can help you find your way back to God."
Carla gripped her hand. When they re-entered the house, the Englishgirl slipped into the bedroom.
"Fust couple forrerd an' back!" called out the fiddler, keeping timewith his foot.
There were bows, differing more in quality than in kind; bowsmasculine, with spurred foot to rearward; bows feminine, quiteindescribable.
"Swing y'r pardners!" shouted the fiddler, flourishing his bow. Aroundflew the lasses, with skirts and ribbons flying; down came the bootsof the cowboys, their spurs clanking time to the music. The room grewmore stifling.
Among the late-comers was a middle-aged woman, immaculately clean. Hersnapping black eyes were set close to her nose, which was sharp andthin. Her lips closed firmly. Her thin black hair, drawn tightly back,was fastened in a tight wad at the back of her head. She wore anantiquated black alpaca dress, sans buttons, sans collar, sans cuffs;but the crowning glory of her costume, and her particular pride, was abreastpin of hair grapes. She was accompanied by an easy-going, stubbylittle Irishman, and a freckle-faced, tow-headed lad of ten.
"Maw, Maw!" said the child, "there's my teacher!"
"Mind y'r mannerses," said the woman, as she cuffed him on the ear.
"I am mindin' my mannerses," he said sulkily.
The teacher saw the shadow on the child's face, stepped forward togreet him, then extended her hand to the mother, saying:
"Good evening, Mrs. Black. I am Brigham's teacher."
But Mrs. Murphy was on the warpath.
"I'm not Miz. Black," she snapped, assuming an air of offendeddignity; "I'm Miz Murphy, the wife o' Patrick Murphy. This is my man,"pointing to the stubby Irishman, with the air of a tragedy queen. Theteacher thereupon shook hands with Patrick. Mrs. Murphy continued:
"My first husband were a Young, my second a Thompson, my third aWigger, my fourth a Black, and my fifth a Murphy."
"I wonders who the nixt wan will be," said Patrick, grinning from earto ear. "My woman lived wid the Mormons."
Mrs. Murphy's eyes looked daggers. He continued:
"An' she thought if it were good fur wan man to marry many women, itwere equally good fur wan woman ter have many husbands, even if shedidn't have all of thim ter onct." He chuckled.
"Mind y'r bizness!" snapped the irate Mrs. Murphy.
"An' so it came my turrhn, schoolma'am, an' she were that delightedwid me she have niver tried another man since. Eh, mavourneen?"
Saying which, Patrick made his escape, shaking with laughter.
Then Esther poured oil on the troubled waters, by telling Mrs. Murphyhow interested she was in what Brigham had told her of his littlesisters, Nora and Kathleen.
"Won't you sit down, Mrs. Murphy?"
Esther's voice and manner were very charming at that moment, as shedrew a chair forward for her companion.
Somewhat mollified, Mrs. Murphy seated herself.
"Oh, I don't mind ef I do set down. I'm that tuckered out withscrubbin' and washin' an' cookin', I'm afeared I can't dance tillmornin'."
As she talked, she fanned herself with her red cotton handkerchief.
"You enjoy dancing, don't you, Mrs. Murphy?" asked the teacher, withapparent interest.
"Enjoy dancin'? I should say I did!" She suddenly assumed an air ofgreat importance. "Back East where I was riz, I went ter all the barnraisin's, an' was accounted the best dancer in the county."
She showed sudden interest in the fiddler, and tapped time to themusic with her foot.
"Then I joined the Mormons. When I lived in Utah, there was plenty o'dancin', I can tell you."
"You are from New York, Mrs. Murphy, I think you said."
"Yep," complacently. "I was riz in York State, near Syrycuse. My folkswas way up, my folks was. Why, my aunt's husband's sister's husbandkep' a confectony, an' lived on Lexity Street, York City. She wererich, she were,--an' dressed! My landy! How she dressed! Always lateststyle! Ye didn't know her, I s'pose. Miz Josiah Common was her name,lived at 650 somethin' Lexity Street. Wisht you'd a knowed her."
Here she mopped her face again.
It was not often that Mrs. Murphy found herself in society, and insociety where she wished to make an impression. Her voice rose higherand shriller.
"Yep," she continued, in a tone of supreme satisfaction, "I'm 'lated,as it were, to Miz Josiah Common. She gimme this here pin."
Here she took off a hair grape pin, and held it up for inspection. "Abunch o' grapes, yer see, hereditaried in the family, descended fromfather to son, yer know, in memory of the departed."
All this in a tone of one who gives information, and commiserates theignorance of the listener. Suddenly Esther Bright lifted herhandkerchief to her eyes.
"Got pink eye?" asked Mrs. Murphy with sudden sympathy. But at thismoment Pat
rick Murphy joined them, and Mrs. Murphy rose to dance withhim.
As the two left her, Esther saw John Clayton edging his way throughthe crowd. An instant later, he presented Lord Kelwin, of Dublin,Ireland.
"Really," said the newcomer, "I had no idea I should meet an Americanlady on the frontier. I am charmed. So delighted, Mr. Clayton, to meetMrs. Clayton and Miss Bright. I had anticipated meeting Indians,Indian princesses, don't you know, like the people we see in the showsyou send us."
"It is too bad you should be disappointed, Lord Kelwin," said the NewEnglander, smiling. "There are princesses galore in the southwest, anda little search will reward you."
"Beg pardon, I did not intend to give the impression that I wasdisappointed; rather, I am surprised that here out of civilization,ah--ah--I should find a lady,--_two_ ladies. I count myself mostfortunate."
John Clayton's eyes twinkled. At the first opportunity he drew LordKelwin aside, and whispered in his ear. The Irishman lookedastonished.
"An Indian princess, did you say? By Jove!"
"Yes, of the blood royal," replied John Clayton, with gravity.
"And possessed of untold wealth? What was it you said?"
"Of untold wealth. I'd rather have her wealth than the crown jewels ofany royal house."
"By George! A fortune and a pretty girl thrown in!"
It was evident that this bit of information was not without effectupon Lord Kelwin, for he turned to Esther Bright effusively.
"It is such a pleasure, such a great pleasure, to meet one who socharmingly represents her race."
He bowed deferentially.
Esther looked mystified. Before she could frame a reply, theirconversation was interrupted.
Lord Kelwin drew John Clayton aside.
"An American princess, did you say?"
"Yes, by divine right," responded the older man.
The Irishman adjusted his monocle, to view Esther more critically.
"She looks more like an English woman," he said meditatively. "Rathertoo slender to be a beauty."
"She was born on the free soil of America," continued his companion,"and has some ideas of her own."
The Irishman smiled cynically.
"As if a pretty girl ever had ideas of her own! She usually knows justwhat her mamma or governess teaches her. I always find a pretty girlan easy victim. I've broken more than one innocent's heart." Hetwirled his moustache.
"You'll not get on so well with Miss Bright. You see, she is used tomeeting _men_." John Clayton looked a trifle wicked, as he continued,"She might take you for a long-headed animal with long ears."
But the last remark was lost upon the Irishman, whose attention wasfixed upon Esther Bright.
"You say her ancestors were savages, Mr. Clayton?"
"I suppose they _were_ savages, same as ours. She has the bestheritage the ages can give,--a healthy body, a beautiful mind, and aheroic soul."
John Clayton's voice, half ironical, had an undertone of seriousness.
"A heroic soul! A heroic soul!" The Irishman raised his monocle again."I didn't suppose savages had souls. I've always imagined this fadabout souls came with civilization."
"I have begun to think," answered his companion, "that with much ofthe so-called civilization, men and women are losing their souls. MissBright is a remarkable woman. She believes in the possibilities ofevery man and woman. It is her purpose in life to awaken the soulwherever she finds it dormant or atrophied."
"Indeed!"
Again the monocle was raised, and the Irishman's curious gaze wasfixed upon the American girl, then engaged in conversation with acowboy.
Patrick Murphy now interrupted this dialogue.
"Lord Kelwin, we wants yez ter dance an Irish jig."
The lord lifted his eyebrows.
"There's no one to dance an Irish jig with me unless you do ityourself, Patrick."
Here there was a general laugh.
"Come along wid yez," persisted Patrick, half carrying him toward thedance room.
"Here," he said to Lord Kelwin, "here's light-footed Janette O'Neilwill dance this wid yez."
There was a stir. The center of the room was cleared, then out steppedLord Kelwin, leading rosy, graceful Janette. She was lithe and dainty.
The fiddler flourished his bow, drew it across the strings, andbrought forth the strains of "Soldier's Joy,"--a melody that sets anIrishman's feet flying.
Janette's short, red skirt showed her trim feet and ankles. Down theroom came the two dancers, side by side, their feet fairly flying.Backward, again they danced, the length of the room, still keeping upthe feathery rapidity of flying feet. Then Lord Kelwin swung hispartner around and around; then facing each other, they danced apart.Expressions of admiring approval were heard.
"Them's fine dancers!"
"Go it, Kelwin! I'll bet on you."
"Three cheers for ould Ireland!"
Down again the full length of the room sped the flying feet; then backagain. Then, whirling as birds in flight, they faced each other oncemore, and danced apart, and finished the dance amid deafeningapplause. As it continued, Lord Kelwin raised his hand for attention.
"Give us the Highland fling. Here, Burns, you and Jessie Roth dancethe Highland fling."
"Highland fling! Highland fling!" echoed many voices.
Again the center of the room was cleared, and Robert Burns led forthJessie Roth.
In a moment the air of "Bonnie Woods and Braes" shrieked from thefiddle. With rhythmic swing of body and limb, the graceful Scotchdancers kept time to the music. Up rose the arm of the girl, withinimitable grace; forward came one foot, daintily touching the floor.It was the very poetry of motion. At the close of this dance, theapplause was again deafening.
"Git y'r pardners fer Virginny reel!" shouted the weary fiddler.
In the rush of the dancers, John Clayton was jostled against EstherBright and Kenneth Hastings.
"Well!" said he, "I believe we'd better go out to supper, and thenstart homeward."
A brief search brought the other members of the party. They seatedthemselves at a long improvised table, covered with red tablecloths.There was but one course, and that included everything from roastvenison and Irish stew, hot biscuit and honey, to New Englanddoughnuts, hot tamales and whiskey.
Near by sat an Indian half-breed, who, discovering a large plate ofdoughnuts, greedily devoured every one. As he had been drinkingheavily, no one interfered, or made audible comments. When the Claytonparty were about to withdraw, there were sounds of scuffling, oathsand cries, from the adjoining room, followed by a heavy thud. Some onehad fallen. John Clayton rushed out, and finding one of his owncowboys in the fight, dragged him out into the open air. To keep himout of the melee, he sent him for their team, and he himself returnedto the house for the members of his party. The leave-taking over, thespirited team dashed away from Jamison Ranch. The lights of the housegrew fainter and fainter, then disappeared. The babble of voices, theclink of glasses, the clatter of spurs, the sound of dancing feet,were far behind. To the New England girl, the experience of the nightseemed a strange dream; and the reality, the solemn hush of themidnight sky brooding over all.
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