Chapter III MORGAN’S DANCE

 FRED did not reach the ranch till long after dark; he found it deserted of all but Dan, who sat on the steps.   “Hello,” he called out cheerily as he galloped up; “all alone?”   “Yes,” was Dan’s quiet reply; “the rest have gone to Morgan’s to dance the devil out of them, or in—I don’t know which. Where have you been all day?”   “Oh, just scouting about the hills for fun. There, Brownie, trot away and feed yourself”; he said, jerking off his saddle. After hanging it up, he returned.   “Aren’t you going to the dance?” asked Dan.   “Oh, it’s so late I don’t like to go. I think I’ll tumble in and take a good rest. There’s work coming to-morrow.”   “Yes,” responded Dan, “and there’ll be few hands to do it. The boys won’t get rid of their whisky by then.{29}”   The two chatted on a little while, then both went to their bunks and quieted down. Fred lay for a few moments listening to the frogs croaking in the pond near by till he dropped off into a sleep as peaceful as the night about him.   Across the creek at Morgan’s ranch, however, the night was far from quiet. The big rooms of the ranch house were bright with light and ringing with music, laughter, and chatty, half-boisterous voices. The dance was at its height.   Old Morgan had been in the war, and he was full of patriotism, always flinging his doors wide open on the Fourth with Western welcome to all his neighbors, urging them to come, and taking it hard if they didn’t. So they came in force, on horseback or clattering in buckboards, came full of rough fun, and when they could get it, full of whisky.   It was a noisy, jolly crowd that gathered on this night, cowboys and ranch girls, all ready to swing themselves dizzy, ripe for excitement, whether it came in the form of a frolic or a fight. For, though the program never called for it, a “cowboy scrap” was the one impromptu part always expected, and welcomed by many. A dance, indeed, would have been thought tame without it. There were those who never missed{30} any chance to touch it off, by some tantalizing act which was lighted matches to powder.   The doings of the day had helped to put the boys at pistol points. Yet for some reason the under current of ill will was kept down unusually well. It might have been because Colonel Morgan, the soldierly, gray-haired master of the place, who, because of the drinking, rather anticipated trouble, had opened the dance with this cheery warning:   “Now, lads and lassies, I asked you here to have a good time; I am going to see that you have it, even if I have to pitch any fool out that does a trick to spoil our fun. Come, Uncle Toby, make the old fiddle do some lively talking.”   “All right, Colonel,” called back a roly-poly, baldhead of a man, perched on a high seat in a corner. “Take yer pardners fer a grand waltz.”   Then, while the smiling, chatty couples began to file about the room, he scraped on his strings to tune up with a little organ played by a lively-eyed midget of a girl.   The music struck up, and the dancers began to swing around, taking their bumps, for the floor was crowded, with jolly good nature. It was a whirl of happy, glowing faces. The dancing, however, was far from rude. Many{31} couples, indeed, glided over the rough floor with an ease that showed them to be no strangers to the art. Alta was especially graceful. She was electric with life, her sweet face lighted by bright eyes and rosy cheeks, her tripping toes keeping step to the music. Her well rounded form was trimly, daintily dressed in white, a rose-colored ribbon at her throat, and a spray of wild flowers airily caught in her hair. She was playful, but her play had in it a touch of pride, and her voice spoke culture. Her costume, too, had a dash of style that was lacking in the dresses of the other girls, who, though comely enough, had so bedecked themselves in showy ribbons and fluffy laces that they looked rather ungraceful.   Yet, though superior to them in most respects, Alta, from all outward appearances, was unconscious of it. She was just one with them. Everybody, from the nattiest cowboy to the shaggiest rancher, felt at home in her presence. Even the other girls, though they might have felt a twinge of jealousy at her popularity when they saw the boys, as always, in a cluster about her, had accepted her leadership; for everybody liked Alta Morgan, except Bud Nixon.   Ever since she had rebuked him for his forced and unwelcome attentions, he had carried{32} an ugly heart toward the girl. The incident which provoked his anger had just recently occurred, and Bud was stubborn in his grudges.   When Alta first came as a little girl to her uncle’s ranch, Bud had been a kind of big brother to her. He was employed by Colonel Morgan; and with the other hands, he had taken delight in teaching her how to ride, to throw a lasso, and to drive the cattle. Alta responded with childlike good-fellowship, accepting his attentions with playful innocence. Bud thought of her as of a mere child at first; but when Alta, after two years at school, came back, no longer a romping little ranch girl but a young lady, beautiful in her budding womanhood, he fell an easy prey to her charms. Presuming on his former associations, he grew ardent toward the girl. Surprised and annoyed at this turn of affairs, Alta tried at first to avoid him; but since he worked at her uncle’s ranch, it was hard not to meet him often; and the worse she treated him, the more persistent he grew, forcing his love-making upon her until one day she compelled herself to face it out. Then she told him frankly that if he wanted to keep her friendship, he must stop his love nonsense.{33}   “Friendship!” he blurted out; “I don’t want your friendship. If we can’t be more’n friends, we can’t be anything.”   “Well, Bud,” she said firmly, “we can’t be anything more.”   “You won’t have me, then?” he half demanded.   “Have you?” Alta’s tone showed more than she meant to reveal of her disgust.   Bud’s stupid pride was stung. “You damned flirt,” he snapped, “if you was a man I’d——”   “No, you wouldn’t, Bud Nixon,” Alta checked him; “you’re too big a coward. Now don’t you dare insult me again or you’ll rue it.”   This flash of righteous temper took his breath away. He stared stupidly at her, then turned sharply and strode out of the room with jangling spurs. That ended it so far as the love-making was concerned; but it was the beginning of a stupid hate in his heart. He simply caroused about and took delight in becoming chief of the ruffian element in the valley, venting his spite against Alta by tormenting her in rude ways, and making any fellow who dared to pay her attention a target for his enmity and abuse.   Alta’s uncle knew nothing about the matter. She spared his feelings by keeping this trouble to herself—a rather hard thing for Alta to{34} decide, because all of her life she had confided freely in her “dear daddy,” as she affectionately called him. But this she knew would anger and worry him and she feared the consequences.   The Colonel, however, did notice that something was wrong with Bud. He began of a sudden to grow reckless and unreliable. This change of disposition in his best hand puzzled and annoyed the ranch owner very much. For Bud had always been a faithful worker, full of energy. As a judge of stock he had few equals, while he could handle horses and cattle with unusual skill. A good deal of the Colonel’s success in ranching was due to Nixon’s help.   Nixon knew this well enough, and he was a little presumptuous around the place because of it, bossing the other boys, and taking liberties in various ways that no other hand would dare to take. The Colonel did not like this, but out of regard for Bud’s good services, he overlooked the fault.   Colonel Morgan, however, was no easy-going manager. Quite the contrary. His military training had made him a strict disciplinarian, and when Bud carried things too far, neglecting his duties to sport about the valley, he received a rather sharp suggestion from his master to mend his ways.{35}   “I’ll take keer of myself all right, Colonel, you needn’t bother about me,” returned Bud, with a touch of insolence in his tone.   “Well, see that you do; and for your own good you had better cut out your rough stuff,” returned the Colonel.   “Well, I’ve allus done my full stint around this ranch, ain’t I? and I’m jist as good as any one on it.”   “Yes, you’ve been a good worker and I appreciate what you have done; now just keep on doing your duty and we’ll have no trouble,” returned the Colonel in kindly tone, ignoring the offensive suggestions in Bud’s talk. He desired no break between them.   “All right, boss!” Bud turned and walked away to the corral to pick up some task he had been directed to do.   There was something still in the tone and manner that the old soldier did not like, but he passed it by, hoping that Bud would soon come back to himself.   Instead of this he grew more undependable and arrogant day by day, until the Colonel’s patience was about exhausted. He held his feelings in check, however, until Bud brought on the crisis.   Bud was at the dance that night, of course, carrying enough of the bad whisky dispensed{36} at the races to be ugly and itching for a fight. Everybody knew he was there, too. He danced about boisterously for a time, then sat in the corner telling crude yarns, while the dance whirled on about him. He would not deign to ask Alta to dance with him, but he eyed her closely, and it punished him severely to see her so popular with the boys, so happily careless and beautiful as she glided around the gay room. Once she had caught him watching her, and had nodded smilingly; but receiving only a sullen stare in response, she gave no further attention to him for the rest of the evening until the row came.   It was some time after twelve that the storm broke. The midnight supper scraps had been cleared away and the crowd fell to singing, “We won’t go home till mornin’,” with lusty voices.   They came very nearly breaking their tuneful resolve, however, much sooner than they expected. It happened in this way. Dick Davis unwittingly precipitated the trouble. According to promise, Alta gave him the first dance, and Dick rather presumed on her partnership for the evening.   “That was a dandy dance,” he said as he took her to her seat.{37}   “I enjoyed it,” she responded. It was no flattery either; for Dick did dance well. He was rather a handsome fellow, too, with dark hair and eyes. He was of athletic build, rather slender and wiry, graceful of movement, neat in his dress, and possessing the assurance which Fred lacked to make him claim quickly the attention of the girls. Dick’s chief faults were his conceit and his fickleness, a hint of which was given by his slightly uptilted nose that detracted somewhat from his otherwise regular countenance.   “I’d sure like another just like it,” he suggested; “will you?”   “Why, yes, if you wish it.”   So a little while later they waltzed again, while Bud Nixon, who had planted his stockily built body in the corner among some of the bolder girls, still kept close watch of the movements of the graceful couple. The jealous glance that blazed in his dark eyes boded no good for Dick; for Bud was a determined fellow, once he started on a quest. He was reckless too; and this characteristic, backed by his strong body, made him a dangerous enemy.   Dick kept so close to Alta during the dance that Bud gradually grew inwardly furious. He determined to break up the flirting. How to{38} do it was the problem his thick brain finally worked out. When Dick for the third time led Alta out to dance, Bud jumped up, grabbed the arm of Molly Thompson, who sat near him, giggling over his coarse jokes, and said, “Let’s hev a dance, little gal.”   Molly was ready enough, and soon they were swinging rapidly around the room. Suddenly, with malice aforethought on Bud’s part, they bumped into Dick and Alta. Bud laughed leeringly at his rudeness.   “That’s all right for once, pardner,” Dick said, threateningly, as they caught the step again. Instinctively he felt that it was not an accident; but he overlooked the challenging insult till Bud bumped into them again with a suddenness that almost upset both him and Alta.   Dick whirled and slapped him in the face. They jumped back. A second later two revolvers flashed and a shot went crashing through the window just over the old fiddler’s head.   Both had pulled the trigger, but Dick’s hammer snapped on an empty shell; Bud’s bullet, sent by a half drunken hand, just touched Dick’s ear and shattered the window close to Uncle Toby, who was scraping away sleepily on his fiddle.{39}   “Whoopee!” shouted the old man, jumping as if he had been shot, and tumbling off his seat. There was a sudden rush for the doorway.   Before the assailants could pull trigger again, however, some one had knocked Bud’s pistol from his hand, Colonel Morgan had grabbed him, and Jim had jerked Dick’s arm down just as his revolver rang out, sending a bullet through Bud’s big toe. The bully jumped with a yell of pain and tried to break through the crowd for the door, toward which Colonel Morgan’s brawny hand, clutched on his collar, was hustling him. When the way was cleared, the old Colonel gave his crestfallen captive a shove and a kick, saying wrathfully, “Now, get, you damned hoodlum, and don’t you ever darken my door again!”   “If I catch you,” shouted Dick angrily, “I’ll shoot you on sight.”   Bud, terrified now and suffering with pain, ran to the shed, jumped on his horse and sped away. Where he went no one knew, and nobody seemed to care.   The panic gradually subsided, and the dance was soon going on as merrily as if nothing had happened. The crowd did not go home till morning; at least the new day was just sending its heralds of light above the hills as the party{40} broke up with hearty thanks and hand shakes to Rancher Morgan and his niece for the jolly time they had given their neighbors. As a parting salute, the cowboys emptied their revolvers into the air and dashed away with whoops that woke the hillside echoes. The girls struck up— “Good night, ladies, Good night, ladies, Good night, ladies, We’re going to leave you now.”   as they rolled along the ranch roads in their buckboards and lumber wagons.   Colonel Morgan and his little girl, with animated faces, stood in the door till the revelry had died away. Then Alta turned to her warm-souled uncle, the only father she had ever known, and giving him a sweet—not good-night, but good-morning kiss, left for her room and lay down to rest. But she could not go to sleep. Her thoughts kept tossing excitedly, till to calm them she arose and went to the window where she stood looking out upon the dawning day, and thinking, thinking.   The events of the night just past had shocked her soul to a new sense of responsibility. She had begun to learn that it is dangerous business to play with the fire of human hearts. She chided herself for being too free with Dick Davis.{41} What would come of it all? Her sensitive heart was troubled. For Alta Morgan was not a flirt; she was full of life and fun; she liked friends, and she won them quickly by her artless grace and genuine goodness; but though she seemed care-free and merry, her conscience was keen and true. It pained her to hurt any one. She felt more pity than blame for even stupid Bud. But she soothed herself with the feeling that after all, her fault was at worst only a bursting desire for innocent fun; and with this comforting thought she gradually dropped her worries to watch the morning break in peace over her troubled world.   The sunlight was tipping the jagged rim of the eastern mountains with flaming gold, before she threw herself, still in her dainty white but rather crumpled dress, on her couch.   When her uncle came in an hour later, she was still lying there, a quiet smile upon her pretty lips, a trace of tear stain on her cheek, and some withered wild flowers tangled in her silken hair. The Colonel gazed a moment in admiration, then he stepped softly across the room, took a light shawl that hung above her, and after spreading it gently over his “little squirrel” stole from the room, closing the door quietly after him.