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the music.

 

“Are you ready?”

 

“Yes.”

 

But she was trembling so, either from fear, or excitement, or both,

that he had to take a firm hold on her arm and almost carry her up the

steps, shove the door open, and force her in. A hundred eyes were

instantly upon them, practiced, suspicious eyes, accustomed to search

into all things and take nothing for granted; eyes of men who, when a

rap came at the door, looked to see whether or not the shadow of the

stranger fell full in the center of the crack beneath the door. If it

fell to one side the man might be an enemy, and therefore they would

stand at one side of the room, their hands upon the butt of a six-gun,

and shout: “Come in.” Such was the battery of glances from the men,

and the color of Pierre altered, paled.

 

He knew some of those faces, for those who hunt and are hunted never

forget the least gestures of their enemies. There was a mighty

temptation to turn back even then, but he set his teeth and forced

himself to stand calmly.

 

The chuckle which replied to this maneuver freed him for the moment.

Suspicion was lulled. Moreover, the red-jeweled hair of Jacqueline and

her lighted eyes called all attention almost immediately upon her. She

shifted the golden scarf—the white arms and breast flashed in the

light—a gasp responded. There would be talk tomorrow; there were

whispers even now.

 

It was not the main hall that they stood in, for this school, having

been built by an aspiring community, contained two rooms; this smaller

room, used by the little ones of the school, was now converted into a

hat-and-cloak room.

 

Pierre hung up his hat, removed his gloves slowly, nerving himself to

endure the sharp glances, and opened the door for Jacqueline.

 

If she had held back tremulously before, something she had seen in the

eyes of those in the first room, something in the whisper and murmur

which rose the moment she started to leave, gave her courage. She

stepped into the dance-hall like a queen going forth to address

devoted subjects. The second ordeal was easier than the first. There

were many times more people in that crowded room, but each was intent

upon his own pleasure. A wave of warmth and light swept upon them, and

a blare of music, and a stir and hum of voices, and here and there the

sweet sound of a happy girl’s laughter. They raised their heads, these

two wild rangers of the mountain-desert, and breathed deep of the

fantastic scene.

 

There was no attempt at beauty in the costumes of the masqueraders.

Here and there some girl achieved a novel and pleasing effect; but on

the whole they strove for cheaper and more stirring things in the line

of the grotesque.

 

Here passed a youth wearing a beard made from the stiff, red bristles

of the tail of a sorrel horse. Another wore a bear’s head cunningly

stuffed, the grinning teeth flashing over his head and the skin draped

over his shoulders. A third disfigured himself by painting after the

fashion of an Indian on the warpath, with crimson streaks down his

forehead and red and black across his cheeks.

 

But not more than a third of all the assembly made any effort to

masquerade, beyond the use of the simple black mask across the upper

part of the face. The rest of the men and women contented themselves

with wearing the very finest clothes they could afford to buy, and

there was through the air a scent of the general merchandise store

which not even a liberal use of cheap perfume and all the drifts of

pale-blue cigarette smoke could quite overcome.

 

As for the music, it was furnished by two very old men, relics of the

days when there were contests in fiddling; a stout fellow of middle

age, with cheeks swelled almost to bursting as he thundered out

terrific blasts on a slide trombone; a youth who rattled two sticks on

an overturned dish-pan in lieu of a drum, and a cornetist of

real skill.

 

There were hard faces in the crowd, most of them, of men who had set

their teeth against hard weather and hard men, and fought their way

through, not to happiness, but to existence, so that fighting had

become their pleasure.

 

Now they relaxed their eternal vigilance, their eternal suspicion.

Another phase of their nature weakened. Some of them were smiling and

laughing for the first time in months, perhaps, of labor and

loneliness on the range. With the gates of good-nature opened, a

veritable flood of gaiety burst out. It glittered in their eyes, it

rose to their lips in a wild laughter. They seemed to be dancing more

furiously fast in order to forget the life which they had left, and to

which they must return.

 

These were the conquerors of the bitter nature of the mountain-desert.

There was beauty here, the beauty of strength in the men and a brown

loveliness in the girls; just as in the music, the blatancy of the

rattling dish-pan and the blaring trombone were more than balanced by

the real skill of the violinists, who kept a high, sweet, singing tone

through all the clamor.

 

And Pierre le Rouge and Jacqueline? They stood aghast for a moment

when that crash of noise broke around them; but they came from a life

where there was nothing of beauty except the lonely strength of the

mountains and the appalling silences of the stars that roll above the

desert. Almost at once they caught the overtone of human joyousness,

and they turned with smiles to each other, and it was “Pierre?”

“Jack?” Then a nod, and she was in his arms, and they glided into

the dance.

CHAPTER 22

When a crowd gathers in the street, there rises a babel of voices, a

confused and pointless clamor, no matter what the purpose of the

gathering, until some man who can think as well as shout begins to

speak. Then the crowd murmurs a moment, and after a few seconds

composes itself to listen.

 

So it was with the noise in the hall when Pierre and Jacqueline began

to dance. First there were smiles of derision and envy around them,

but after a moment a little hush came where they moved.

 

They could not help but dance well, for they had youth and grace and

strength, and the glances of applause and envy were like wine to

quicken their blood, while above all they caught the overtone of the

singing violins, and danced by that alone. The music ended with a long

flourish just as they whirled to a stop in a corner of the room. At

once an eddy of men started toward them.

 

“Who shall it be?” smiled Pierre. “With whom do you want to dance?

It’s your triumph, Jack.”

 

She was alight and alive with the victory, and her eyes roved over the

crowd.

 

“The big man with the tawny hair.”

 

“But he’s making right past us.”

 

“No; he’ll turn and come back.”

 

“How do you know?”

 

For answer she glanced up and laughed, and he realized with a singular

sense of loneliness that she knew many things which were beyond his

ken. Someone touched his arm, and a voice, many voices, beset him.

 

“How’s the chances for a dance with the girl, partner?”

 

“This dance is already booked,” Pierre answered, and kept his eyes on

the tall man with the scarred face and the resolute jaw. He wondered

why Jacqueline had chosen such a partner.

 

At least she had prophesied correctly, for the big man turned toward

them just as he seemed about to head for another part of the hall. The

crowd gave way before him, not that he shouldered them aside, but they

seemed to feel the coming of his shadow before him, and separated as

they would have done before the shadow of a falling tree.

 

In another moment Pierre found himself looking up to the giant. No

mask could cover that long, twisting mark of white down his cheek, nor

hide the square set of the jaw, nor dim the steady eyes.

 

And there came to Pierre an exceedingly great uneasiness in his right

hand, and a twitching of the fingers low down on his thigh where the

familiar holster should have hung. His left hand rose, following the

old instinct, and touched beneath his throat where the cold cross lay.

 

He was saying easily: “This is your dance, isn’t it?”

 

“Right, Bud,” answered the big man in a mellow voice as great as his

size. “Sorry I can’t swap partners with you, but I hunt alone.”

 

An overwhelming desire to get a distance between himself and this huge

unknown came to Pierre.

 

He said: “There goes the music. You’re off.”

 

And the other, moving toward Jack, leaned down a little and murmured

at the ear of the outlaw: “Thanks, Pierre.”

 

Then he was gone, and Jacqueline was laughing over his shoulder back

to Pierre.

 

Through his daze and through the rising clamor of the music, a voice

said beside him: “You look sort of sick, dude. Who’s your friend?”

 

“Don’t you know him?” asked Pierre.

 

“No more than I do you; but I’ve ridden the range for ten years around

here, and I know that he’s new to these parts. If I’d ever glimpsed

him before, I’d remember him. He’d be a bad man in a mix, eh?”

 

And Pierre answered with devout earnestness: “He would.”

 

“But where’d you buy those duds, pal? Hey, look! Here’s what I’ve been

waiting for—the Barneses and the girl that’s visitin’ ‘em from

the East.”

 

“What girl?”

 

“Look!”

 

The Barnes group was passing through the door, and last came the

unmistakable form of Dick Wilbur, masked, but not masked enough to

hide his familiar smile or cover the well-known sound of his laughter

as it drifted to Pierre across the hall, and on his arm was a girl in

an evening dress of blue, with a small, black mask across her eyes,

and deep-golden hair.

 

Pausing before she swung into the dance with Wilbur, she made a

gesture with the white arm, and looked up laughing to big, handsome

Dick. Pierre trembled with a red rage when he saw the hands of Wilbur

about her.

 

Dick, in passing, marked Pierre’s stare above the heads of the crowd,

and frowned with trouble. The hungry eyes of Pierre followed them as

they circled the hall again; and this time Wilbur, perhaps fearing

that something had gone wrong with Pierre, steered close to the edge

of the dancing crowd and looked inquisitively across.

 

He leaned and spoke to the girl, and she turned her head, smiling, to

Pierre. Then the smile went out, and even despite the mask, he saw her

eyes widen. She stopped and slipped from the arm of Wilbur, and came

step by step slowly toward him like one walking in her sleep. There,

by the edge of the dancers, with the noise of the music and the

shuffling feet to cover them, they met. The hands she held to him were

cold and trembling.

 

“Is it you?”

 

“It is I.”

 

That was all; and then the shadow of Wilbur loomed above them.

 

“What’s this? Do you know each other? It isn’t possible! Pierre, are

you playing a game with me?”

 

But under the glance of Pierre he fell back a step, and reached for

the gun which was not there. They were alone once more.

 

“Mary—Mary

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