Part 10 (1/2)
Tramp, tramp, tramp went the rhythmic feet; diddle-diddle-dee went the fiddles. There was not much talking among either dancers or sitters-out.
Occasionally one of the babies in the adjoining bedroom waked and wailed, but on the whole they were well-behaved babies. There they lay on the bed, six in a row, while their mothers eagerly s.n.a.t.c.hed their bit of pleasure at the cost of a night's sleep.
Lemuel Keith, joint host with his brother on this occasion, sat on a bench against the wall, contemplating with wonder the energy of these overworked women. Beside him sat the husband of one of them, a tall, gaunt ranchman, with his legs crossed, poising upon a bony knee an atom of humanity in a short plaided woollen frock.
”How old is your baby?” asked Lem, mindful of his duties as host.
”Four months,” was the laconic reply; and as though embarra.s.sed by the personal nature of the inquiry, the man rose and repaired to a remote corner, where he began a solemn waltz with his offspring in his arms.
It was an April evening, and the windows were open to the south. A cool night-breeze came in, grateful alike to dancers and lookers-on. Lem sat watching his twin brother Joe, who was taking his turn at the dance. Lem usually watched Joe when he had the chance; for if the brothers were bewilderingly alike in appearance, they were animated by a spirit so unlike, that Joe's every look and action was a source of interest to Lem. Indeed, it was his taste for Joe's society that had made a Colorado ranchman of him. Nature had intended Lemuel Keith for a student, and then, by a strange oversight, had made him the twin-brother of a fascinating daredevil for whom the East was too narrow.
Lem sat and watched Joe, and observed the progress of the dance, philosophizing over the scene in a way peculiar to himself. For his own part, he never danced if he could help himself, but he found the dancing human being a fruitful subject of contemplation. Joe's partner, in particular, amused and interested him. She was a rather dressy young person, with a rose-leaf complexion and a simpering mouth. Rose-leaf complexions are rare on the sun-drenched, wind-swept prairies, and the more effective for that. The possessor of this one, fully aware of her advantage, was displaying, for her partner's delectation, the most wonderful airs and graces. She glided about upon the points of her toes; she gave him her delicately poised finger-tips with a birdlike coyness which the glance of her beady black eyes belied. Joe was in his element, playing the bold yet insinuating cavalier.
Lem Keith found a fascination in this first ranch dance of his. He liked the heartiness of the whole performance; he enjoyed the sharp-cut individuality of the people, their eccentricities of costume and deportment; he was of too sensitive a fibre not to feel the dramatic possibilities of the occasion. ”Tenderfoot” as he was, the fact could not escape him that a man in a flannel s.h.i.+rt, with a pistol at his belt,--and most of the men were thus equipped,--was more than likely to have a touch of lawlessness about him.
[Ill.u.s.tration: THE KEITH RANCH.]
There was a pause between the two figures of the dance. Joe had taken his partner's fan, which he was gently waving to and fro before her face.
She stood panting with affected exhaustion, glancing archly at her new ”young man” from under studiously fluttering eyelids. The gaunt father, having stopped waltzing, had discovered that the woollen-clad baby was fast asleep on his shoulder. Over in another corner, under a window, was a red-faced cowboy, slumbering as tranquilly as the baby, his head sunk on his breast, a genial forelock waving lightly in the breeze. The fiddlers resumed their function. ”Swing your pards!” cried the curly-headed boy; and once more all was commotion.
The room seemed hot and crowded. Lem had s.h.i.+fted his position, and was standing opposite the windows. He looked toward them, and his glance was arrested. In the square of light cast outside by the lamps within was a sinister, malignant face. It was the face of a man whom the Keith boys had seen to-night for the first time. He had paid his seventy-five cents, and had received his numbered ticket like the others, by which simple ceremony all the requirements of ranch etiquette were fulfilled. Bub Quinn they called him--Bub Quinn from the Divide. Rather a nice-looking fellow, the brothers had agreed, attracted by his brilliant smile and hearty hand-shake. It was Bub Quinn who had brought the girl that Joe was dancing with, and now that Lem came to think of it, he could not remember having seen her dance with any one else, besides Quinn himself.
Lem's heart gave a heavy thump almost before his brain had grasped the situation. Yet the situation was very plain. It was Joe and his little fool of a partner that those malignant eyes were following.
They were light eyes, looking out from under level light eyebrows, and Lem frankly quaked at sight of them. The man's face was clean-shaven, showing high cheekbones and a firm, handsome mouth. He stood in an indolent att.i.tude, with his hands in his pockets; but all the reckless pa.s.sion of the desperado was concentrated in the level glance of those menacing eyes.
”Meet your partner with a double _sashay_,” cried the curly-headed boy.
Diddle-diddle-dee squeaked the fiddles. Lem looked again at his brother.
He was flirting outrageously.
A door opened behind Lem, and a woman called him by name. He stepped into the kitchen, where two of his prairie neighbors were busy with the supper. It was Mrs. Luella Jenkins who had summoned him, kind, queer, warm-hearted Mrs. Luella. The ”Keith boys” were giving their first dance, and she had undertaken to engineer the supper.
”We've got the coffee on,” she remarked, pointing over her shoulder at a couple of gallon-cans on the stove, from which an agreeable aroma was rising.
”That's first-rate,” said Lem, who had a much more distinct vision of Bub Quinn's eyes than of the mammoth tin cans. ”Is there anything I can do to help?”
”Well, I dunno,” Mrs. Luella ruminated. Her speech was as slow as her movements were quick. ”I was thinkin' 't was 'most a pity you hadn't had bun sandwiches.” She looked regretfully at the rapidly growing pile of the ordinary kind with which the table was being loaded. ”The buns taste kind o' sweet and pleasant, mixed up with the ham.”
Through the closed door came the sc.r.a.ping of the indefatigable fiddles.
”Hold her tight, and run her down the middle!” shouted the voice of the caller-out.
”Over to Watts's last fall,” Mrs. Luella rambled on, slicing ham the while at a great rate, ”they had bun sandwiches, and in the top of ary bun there was a toothpick stickin' up. If you've got toothpicks enough about the place, we might try it. It looks real tasty.”
”Mrs. Jenkins,” Lem broke in, ”do you know Bub Quinn?”
”No; nor I don't want to,” Luella answered curtly.
”Why not?”
”He's too handy with his shooting-irons to suit my taste.”