Part 30 (1/2)
”An excellent mark for a Breed's gun,” added Bill. ”Seems to me you'll succeed,” he went on politely. His eagle face was calmly sincere. The gray eyes looked steadily into those of the officer's. Jacky was watching her lover keenly. The faintest suspicion of a smile was in her eyes.
”I should like to be there,” she said simply, when Bill had finished.
”It's mean bad luck being a girl. Say, d'you think I'd be in the way, sergeant?”
Horrocks looked over at her, and in his gaze was a look of admiration.
In the way he knew she would be, but he could not tell her so. Such spirit appealed to him.
”There would be much danger for you, Miss Jacky,” he said. ”My hands would be full, I could not look after you, and besides--” He broke off at the recollection of the old stories about this girl. Suddenly he wondered if he had been indiscreet. What if the stories were true. He ran cold at the thought. These people knew his plans. Then he looked into the girl's beautiful face. No, it must be false. She could have nothing in common with the rascally Breeds.
”And besides--what?” Jacky said, smiling over at the policeman.
Horrocks shrugged.
”When Breeds are drunk they are not responsible.”
”That settles it,” the girl's uncle said, with a forced laugh. He did not like Jacky's tone. Knowing her, he feared she intended to be there to see the arrest.
Her uncle's laugh nettled the girl a little, and with a slight elevation of her head, she said,--
”I don't know.”
Further talk now became impossible, for, at that moment the troopers arrived. Horrocks discovered that it was nearly ten o'clock. The moment for the start had come, and, with one accord, everybody rose from the table. In the bustle and handshaking of departure Jacky slipped away.
When, she returned the doctor and Mrs. Abbot were in the hall alone with ”Lord” Bill. The latter was just leaving. ”Poker” John was on the veranda seeing Horrocks off.
As Jacky came downstairs Aunt Margaret's eyes fell upon the ominous holster and cartridge belt which circled the girl's hips. She was dressed for riding. There could be no mistaking the determined set of her face.
”Jacky, my dear,” said the old lady in dismay. ”What are you doing?
Where are you going?”
”Guess I'm going to see the fun--I've a notion there'll be some.”
”But--”
”Don't 'but' me, Aunt Margaret, I take it you aren't deaf.”
The old lady relapsed into dignified silence, but there was much concern and a little understanding in her eyes as she watched the girl pa.s.s out to the corrals.
CHAPTER XVIII
THE PUSKY
A pusky is a half-breed dance. That is the literal meaning of the word.
The practical translation, however, is often different. In reality it is a debauch--a frightful orgie, when all the lower animal instincts--and they are many and strong in the half-breed--are given full sway. When drunkenness and b.e.s.t.i.a.l pa.s.sions rule the actions of these worse than savages. When murder and crimes of all sorts are committed without scruple, without even thought. Latterly things have changed, and these orgies are less frequent among the Breeds, or, at least, conducted with more regard for decorum. But we are talking of some years ago, at a time when the Breeds had to learn the meaning of civilization--before good order and government were thoroughly established in this great Western country; in the days when Indian ”Sun” dances, and other barbarous functions were held. In the days of the Red River Jig, when a good fiddler of the same was held to be a man of importance; when the method of tuning the fiddle to the necessary pitch for the playing of that curious dance was a secret known only to a privileged few. Some might call them the ”good” old days. ”Bad” is the adjective which best describes that period.
When Horrocks and his men set out for the Breed camp they had discarded their police clothes and were clad in the uncouth garb of the half-breeds. They had even gone to the length of staining their faces to the coppery hue of the Indians. They were a ragged party, these hardy riders of the plains, as they embarked on their meditated capture of the desperate raider. All of the five were ”tough” men, who regarded their own lives lightly enough--men who had seen many stirring times, and whose hairbreadth escapes from ”tight” corners would have formed a lengthy narrative in themselves. They were going to they knew not what now, but they did not shrink from the undertaking. Their leader was a man whose daring often outweighed his caution, but, as they well knew, he was endowed with a reckless man's luck, and they would sooner follow such as he--for they were sure of a busy time--than work with one of his more prudent colleagues.
At the half-breed camp was considerable bustle and excitement. The activity of the Breed is not proverbial; they are at best a lazy lot, but now men and women came and went bristling with energy to their finger tips. Preparations were nearing completion. The chief item of importance was the whisky supply, and this the treasurer, Baptiste, had made his personal care. A barrel of the vilest ”rot-gut” that was ever smuggled into prohibition territory had been procured and carefully secreted. This formed the chief refreshment, and, doubtless, the ”bluestone” with which its fiery contents were strengthened, would work the pa.s.sionate natures, on which it was to play, up to the proper crime-committing pitch.