But when the two had entered and had exchanged greetings, Presley drew Annixter aside.
"Vanamee and I have just come from Bonneville," he explained.
"We saw Delaney there.He's got the buckskin, and he's full of bad whiskey and dago-red.You should see him; he's wearing all his cow-punching outfit, hair trousers, sombrero, spurs and all the rest of it, and he has strapped himself to a big revolver.
He says he wasn't invited to your barn dance but that he's coming over to shoot up the place.He says you promised to show him off Quien Sabe at the toe of your boot and that he's going to give you the chance to-night!""Ah," commented Annixter, nodding his head, "he is, is he?"Presley was disappointed.Knowing Annixter's irascibility, he had expected to produce a more dramatic effect.He began to explain the danger of the business.Delaney had once knifed a greaser in the Panamint country.He was known as a "bad" man.
But Annixter refused to be drawn.
"All right," he said, "that's all right.Don't tell anybody else.You might scare the girls off.Get in and drink."Outside the dancing was by this time in full swing.The orchestra was playing a polka.Young Vacca, now at his fiftieth wax candle, had brought the floor to the slippery surface of glass.The druggist was dancing with one of the Spanish-Mexican girls with the solemnity of an automaton, turning about and about, always in the same direction, his eyes glassy, his teeth set.Hilma Tree was dancing for the second time with Harran Derrick.She danced with infinite grace.Her cheeks were bright red, her eyes half-closed, and through her parted lips she drew from time to time a long, tremulous breath of pure delight.The music, the weaving colours, the heat of the air, by now a little oppressive, the monotony of repeated sensation, even the pain of physical fatigue had exalted all her senses.She was in a dreamy lethargy of happiness.It was her "first ball." She could have danced without stopping until morning.Minna Hooven and Cutter were "promenading." Mrs.Hooven, with little Hilda already asleep on her knees, never took her eyes from her daughter's gown.As often as Minna passed near her she vented an energetic "pst! pst!" The metal tip of a white draw string was showing from underneath the waist of Minna's dress.Mrs.Hooven was on the point of tears.
The solitary gayly apparelled clerk from Bonneville was in a fever of agitation.He had lost his elaborate programme card.
Bewildered, beside himself with trepidation, he hurried about the room, jostled by the dancing couples, tripping over the feet of those who were seated; he peered distressfully under the chairs and about the floor, asking anxious questions.
Magnus Derrick, the centre of a listening circle of ranchers--Garnett from the Ruby rancho, Keast from the ranch of the same name, Gethings and Chattern of the San Pablo and Bonanza--stood near the great open doorway of the barn, discussing the possibility of a shortage in the world's wheat crop for the next year.
Abruptly the orchestra ceased playing with a roll of the snare drum, a flourish of the cornet and a prolonged growl of the bass viol.The dance broke up, the couples hurrying to their seats, leaving the gayly apparelled clerk suddenly isolated in the middle of the floor, rolling his eyes.The druggist released the Spanish-Mexican girl with mechanical precision out amidst the crowd of dancers.He bowed, dropping his chin upon his cravat;throughout the dance neither had hazarded a word.The girl found her way alone to a chair, but the druggist, sick from continually revolving in the same direction, walked unsteadily toward the wall.All at once the barn reeled around him; he fell down.
There was a great laugh, but he scrambled to his feet and disappeared abruptly out into the night through the doorway of the barn, deathly pale, his hand upon his stomach.
Dabney, the old man whom nobody knew, approached the group of ranchers around Magnus Derrick and stood, a little removed, listening gravely to what the governor was saying, his chin sunk in his collar, silent, offering no opinions.
But the leader of the orchestra, with a great gesture of his violin bow, cried out:
"All take partners for the lancers and promenade around the hall!"However, there was a delay.A little crowd formed around the musicians' platform; voices were raised; there was a commotion.
Skeezicks, who played the big horn, accused the cornet and the snare-drum of stealing his cold lunch.At intervals he could be heard expostulating:
"Ah, no! at the end of the end! Render me the sausages, you, or less I break your throat! Aha! I know you.You are going to play me there a bad farce.My sausages and the pork sandwich, else I go away from this place!"He made an exaggerated show of replacing his big horn in its case, but the by-standers raised a great protest.The sandwiches and one sausage were produced; the other had disappeared.In the end Skeezichs allowed himself to be appeased.The dance was resumed.
Half an hour later the gathering in the harness room was considerably reinforced.It was the corner of the barn toward which the male guests naturally gravitated.Harran Derrick, who only cared to dance with Hilma Tree, was admitted.Garnett from the Ruby rancho and Gethings from the San Pablo, came in a little afterwards.A fourth bowl of punch was mixed, Annixter and Caraher clamouring into each other's face as to its ingredients.
Cigars were lighted.Soon the air of the room became blue with an acrid haze of smoke.It was very warm.Ranged in their chairs around the side of the room, the guests emptied glass after glass.
Vanamee alone refused to drink.He sat a little to one side, disassociating himself from what was going forward, watching the others calmly, a little contemptuously, a cigarette in his fingers.
