The Story of the Foss River Ranch by Ridgwell Cullum

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At eight o'clock the girl announced the meal with characteristic
heartiness.

"Come right along and feed," she said. "Who knows what to-night may
bring forth? I guess we can't do better than drink success to our
friend, Sergeant Horrocks. Whatever the result of his work to-night we
all allow his nerve's right. Say, good people, there's liquor on the
table--and glasses; a bumper to Sergeant Horrocks."

The wording of the girl's remarks was significant. Truly Horrocks might
have been the leader of a forlorn hope. Many of those present certainly
considered him to be such. However, they were none the less hearty in
their toast, and Jacky and Bill were the two first to raise their
glasses on high.

The toast drunk, tongues were let loose and the supper began. Ten
o'clock was the time at which Horrocks was to set out. Therefore there
were two hours in which to make merry. Never was a merrier meal taken at
the ranch. Spirits were at bursting point, due no doubt to the current
of excitement which actuated each member of the gathering.

Jacky was in the best of spirits, and even "Poker" John was enjoying one
of his rare lucid intervals. "Lord" Bill sat between Jacky and Mrs.
Abbot, and a more charming companion the old lady thought she had never
met. It was Jacky who led the talk, Jacky who saw to every one's wants,
Jacky whose spirits cheered everybody, by her light badinage, into, even
against their better judgment, a feeling of optimism. Even Horrocks felt
the influence of her bright, winsome cheeriness.

"Capture this colored scoundrel, Sergeant Horrocks," the girl exclaimed,
with a laughing glance, as she helped him to a goodly portion of baked
Jack-rabbit, "and we'll present you with the freedom of the settlement,
in an illuminated address inclosed in a golden casket. That's the mode,
I take it, in civilized countries, and I guess we are civilized
hereabout, some. Say, Bill, I opine you're the latest thing from England
here to-night. What does 'freedom' mean?"

Bill looked dubious. Everybody waited for his answer.

"Freedom--um. Yes, of course--freedom. Why, freedom means banquets. You
know--turtle soup--bile--indigestion. Best champagne in the mayor's
cellar. Police can't run you in if you get drunk. All that sort of
thing, don'tcherknow."

"An excellent definition," laughed the doctor.

"I wish somebody would present me with 'freedom,'" said Nabob,
plaintively.

"It's a good thing we don't go in for that sort of thing extensively in
Canada," put in Horrocks, as the representative of the law. "The
peaceful pastime of the police would soon be taken from them. Why, the
handling of 'drunks' is our only recreation."

"That, and for some of them the process of lowering four per cent.
beer," added the doctor, quietly.

Another laugh followed the doctor's sally.

When the mirth had subsided Aunt Margaret shook her head. This levity
rather got on her nerves. This Retief business, as she understood it,
was a very serious affair, especially for Sergeant Horrocks. She was
keenly anxious to hear the details of his preparations. She knew most of
them, but she liked her information first hand. With this object in view
she suggested, rather than asked, what she wanted to know.

"But I don't quite understand. I take it you are going single-handed
into the half-breed camp, where you expect to find this Retief, Sergeant
Horrocks?"

Horrocks's face was serious as he looked over at the old lady. There was
no laughter in his black, flashing eyes. He was not a man given to
suavity. His business effectually crushed any approach to that sort of
thing. He was naturally a stern man, too.

"I am not quite mad, madam," he said curtly. "I set some value upon my
life."

This crushing rejoinder had no effect upon Aunt Margaret. She still
persisted.

"Then, of course, you take your men with you. Four, you have, and smart
they look, too. I like to see well-set-up men. I trust you will succeed.
They--I mean the Breeds--are a dangerous people."

"Not so dangerous as they're reckoned, I guess," said Horrocks,
disdainfully. "I don't anticipate much trouble."

"I hope it will turn out as you think," replied the old lady,
doubtfully.

Horrocks shrugged his shoulders; he was not to be drawn.

There was a moment's silence after this, which was at length broken by
"Poker" John.

"Of course, Horrocks," he said, "we shall carry out your instructions to
the letter. At three in the morning, failing your return or news of you,
I set out with my ranch hands to find you. And woe betide those black
devils if you have come to harm. By the way, what about your men?"

"They assemble here at ten. We leave our horses at Lablache's stables.
We are going to walk to the settlement."

"I think you are wise," said the doctor.

"Guess horses would be an encumbrance," said Jacky.

"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 pass 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 bestial passions 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 passionate natures, on which it was to play, up to the proper
crime-committing pitch.

The orgie was to be held in a barn of considerable dimensions. It was a
ramshackle affair, reeking of old age and horses. The roof was decidedly
porous in places, being so lame and disjointed that the starry
resplendence of the summer sky was plainly visible from beneath it.

This, however, was a trifling matter, and of much less consequence than
the question of space. What few horse stalls had once occupied the
building had been removed, and the mangers alone remained, with the odor
of horse, to remind the guests of the original purpose of their
ballroom. A careful manipulation of dingy Turkey red, and material which
had once been white, struggled vainly to hide these mangers from view,
while coarse, rough boards which had at one time floored some of the
stalls, served to cover in the tops and convert them into seats. The
result was a triumph of characteristic ingenuity. The barn was converted
into a place of the necessary requirements, but rendered hideous in the
process.

Next came the disguising of the rafters and "collar-ties" of the
building. This was a process which lent itself to the curiously warped
artistic sense of the benighted people. Print--I mean cotton rags--was
the chief idea of decoration. They understood these stuffs. They were
cheap--or, at least, as cheap as anything sold at Lablache's store.
Besides, print decorated the persons of the buxom Breed women, therefore
what more appropriate than such stuff to cover the nakedness of the
building. Festoons of print, flags of print, rosettes of print: these
did duty for the occasion. The staring patterns gleamed on every beam,
or hung in bald draping almost down to the height of an ordinary man's
head. The effect was strangely reminiscent of a second-hand clothes
shop, and helped to foster the nauseating scent of the place.

A row of reeking oil lamps, swinging in crazy wire swings, were
suspended down the center from the moldering beams, and in the diamond
window spaces were set a number of black bottles, the neck of each being
stuffed with a tallow candle.

One corner of the room was set apart for the fiddler, and here a dais of
rough boarding, also draped in print stuff, was erected to meet the
requirements of that honored personage. Such was the uncouth place where
the Breeds proposed to hold their orgie. And of its class it was an
excellent example.

At ten o'clock the barn was lit up, and strangely bizarre was the
result. The draught through the broken windows set the candles
a-guttering, until rivers of yellow fat decorated the black bottles in
which they were set. The stench from these, and from the badly-trimmed
coal oil lamps down the center, blended disgustingly with the native
odor of the place, until the atmosphere became heavy, pungent, revolting
in the nostrils, and breathing became a labor after the sweet fresh air
of the prairie outside.

Soon after this the dancers began to arrive. They came in their strange
deckings of glaring colors, and many and varied were the types which
soon filled the room. There were old men and there were young men. There
were girls in their early teens, and toothless hags, decrepit and
faltering. Faces which, in wild loveliness, might have vied with the
white beauty of the daughters of the East. Faces seared and crumpled
with weight of years and nights of debauchery. Men were there of superb
physique, whilst others crouched huddled, with shuffling gait towards
the manger seats, to seek rest for their rotting bones, and ease for
their cramping muscles.

Many of the faces were marred by disease; small-pox was a prevalent
scourge amongst these people. The effect of the pure air of the prairie
was lost upon the germ-laden atmosphere which surrounded these dreadful
camps. Crime, too, was stamped on many of the faces of those gathering
in the reeking ballroom. The small bullet head with low, receding
forehead; the square set jaws and sagging lips; the shifty, twinkling
little eyes, narrow-set and of jetty hue; such faces were plentiful. Nor
were these features confined to the male sex alone. Truly it was a
motley gathering, and not pleasant to look upon.

All, as they came, were merry with anticipation; even the hags and the
rheumatism-ridden male fossils croaked out their quips and coarse
pleasantries to each other with gleeful unctuousness, inspired by
thoughts of the generous contents of the secreted barrel. Their watery
eyes watered the more, as, on entering the room, they glanced round
seeking to discover the fiery store of liquor, which they hoped to help
to dispose of. It was a loathsome sight to behold these miserable
wretches gathering together with no thought in their beast-like brains
but of the ample food and drink which they intended should fall to their
share. Crabbed old age seeking rejuvenation in gut-burning spirit.

The room quickly filled, and the chattering of many and strange tongues
lent an apish tone to the function. The French half-breed predominated,
and these spoke their bastard lingo with that rapidity and bristling
elevation of tone which characterizes their Gallic relatives. It seemed
as though each were trying to talk his neighbor down, and the process
entailed excited shriekings which made the old barn ring again.

Baptiste, with a perfect understanding of the people, served out the
spirit in pannikins with a lavish hand. It was as well to inspire these
folk with the potent liquor from the start, that their energies might be
fully aroused for the dance.

When all, men and women alike, had partaken of an "eye-opener," Baptiste
gave the signal, and the fiddler struck up his plaintive wail. The reedy
strings of his instrument shrieked out the long-drawn measure of a
miserable waltz, the company paired off, and the dance began.

Whatever else may be the failings of the Breeds they can dance. Dancing
is as much a part of their nature as is the turning of a dog twice
before he lies down, a feature of the canine race. Those who were
physically incapable of dancing lined the walls and adorned the manger
seats. For the rest, they occupied the sanded floor, and danced until
the dust clouded the air and added to the choking foulness of the
atmosphere.

The shrieking fiddle lured this savage people, and its dreadful tone was
music of the sweetest to their listening ears. This was a people who
would dance. They would dance so long as they could stand.

More drink followed the first dance. Baptiste had not yet recognized the
pitch of enthusiasm which must promise a successful evening. The
quantities of liquor thus devoured were appalling. The zest increased.
The faces wearing an habitual frown displayed a budding smile. The
natural smiler grinned broadly. All warmed to the evening's amusement.

Now came the festive barn dance. The moccasined feet pounded the filthy
floor, and the dust gathered thick round the gums of the hard-breathing
dancers. The noise of coarse laughter and ribald shoutings increased.
All were pleased with themselves, but more pleased still with the fiery
liquid served out by Baptiste. The scene grew more wild as time crept
on, and the effect of the liquor made itself apparent. The fiddler
labored cruelly at his wretched instrument. His task was no light one,
but he spared himself no pains. His measure must be even, his tone
almost unending to satisfy his countrymen. He understood them, as did
Baptiste. To fail in his work would mean angry protests from those he
served, and angry protests amongst the Breeds generally took the form of
a shower of leaden bullets. So he scraped away with aching limbs, and
with heavy foot pounding out the time upon the crazy dais. He must play
until long after daylight, until his fingers cramped, and his old eyes
would remain open no longer.

Peter Retief had not as yet put in an appearance. Horrocks was at his
post viewing the scene from outside one of the broken windows. His men
were hard by, concealed at certain points in the shelter of some
straggling bush which surrounded the stable. Horrocks, with
characteristic energy and disregard for danger, had set himself the task
of spying out the land. He had a waiting game to play, but the result he
hoped would justify his action.

The scene he beheld was not new to him, his duties so often carried him
within the precincts of a half-breed camp. No one knew the Breeds better
than did this police officer.

Time passed. Again and again the fiddle ceased its ear-maddening screams
as refreshment was partaken of by the dancers. Wilder and wilder grew
the scene as the potent liquor took hold of its victims. They danced
with more and more reckless abandon as each time they returned to step
it to the fiddler's patient measure. Midnight approached and still no
sign of Retief. Horrocks grew restless and impatient.

Once the fiddle ceased, and the officer watching saw all eyes turn to
the principal entrance to the barn. His heart leapt in anticipation as
he gazed in the direction. Surely this sudden cessation could only
herald the coming of Retief.

He saw the door open as he craned forward to look. For the moment he
could not see who entered; a crowd obscured his view. He heard a cheer
and a clapping of hands, and he rejoiced. Then the crowd parted and he
saw the slim figure of a girl pass down the center of the reeking den.
She was clad in buckskin shirt and dungaree skirt. At the sight he
muttered a curse. The newcomer was Jacky Allandale.

He watched her closely as she moved amongst her uncouth surroundings.
Her beautiful face and graceful figure was like to an oasis of stately
flora in a desert of trailing, vicious brambles, and he marveled at the
familiarity with which she came among these people. Moreover, he became
beset with misgivings as he remembered the old stories which linked this
girl's name with that of Retief. He struggled to fathom the meaning of
what he saw, but the real significance of her coming escaped him.

The Breeds once more returned to their dancing, and all went on as
before. Horrocks followed Jacky's movements with his eyes. He saw her
standing beside a toothless old woman, who wagged her cunning, aged head
as she talked in answer to the girl's questions. Jacky seemed to be
looking and inquiring for some one, and the officer wondered if the
object of her solicitude was Retief. He would have been surprised had he
known that she was inquiring and looking for himself. Presently she
seated herself and appeared to be absorbed in the dance.

The drink was flowing freely now, and a constant demand was being made
upon Baptiste. Whilst the fiery spirit scorched down the hardened
throats, strange, weird groans came from the fiddler's woeful
instrument. The old man was tuning it down for the plaintive
requirements of the Red River Jig.

The dance of the evening was about to begin. Men and women primed
themselves for the effort. Each was eager to outdo his or her neighbor
in variety of steps and power of endurance. All were prepared to do or
die. The mad jig was a national contest, and the one who lasted the
longest would be held the champion dancer of the district--a coveted
distinction amongst this strange people.

At last the music began again, and now the familiar "Ragtime" beat
fascinatingly upon the air. Those who lined the walls took up the
measure, and, with foot and clapping hands, marked the time for the
dancers. Those who competed leapt to the fray, and soon the reeking room
became stifling with dust.

The fiddler's time, slow at the commencement, soon grew faster, and the
dancers shook their limbs in delighted anticipation. Faster and faster
they shuffled and jigged, now opposite to partners, now round each
other, now passing from one partner to another, now alone, for the
admiration of the onlookers. Nor was there pause or hesitation. An
instant's pause meant dropping out of that mad and old time "hoe-down,"
and each coveted the distinction of champion. Faster and more wildly
they footed it, and soon the speed caused some of the less agile to drop
out. It was a giddy sight to watch, and the strange clapping of the
spectators was not the least curious feature of the scene.

The crowd of dancers grew thinner as the fiddler, with a marvelous
display of latent energy, kept ever-increasing his speed.

In spite of himself Horrocks became fascinated. There was something so
barbarous--heathenish--in what he beheld. The minutes flew by, and the
dance was rapidly nearing its height. More couples fell out, dead beat
and gasping, but still there remained a number who would fight it out to
the bitter end. The streaming faces and gaping lips of those yet
remaining told of the dreadful strain. Another couple dropped out, the
woman actually falling with exhaustion. She was dragged aside and left
unnoticed in the wild excitement. Now were only three pairs left in the
center of the floor.

The police-officer found himself speculating as to which would be the
winner of the contest.

"That brown-faced wench, with the flaming red dress, 'll do 'em all," he
said to himself. The woman he was watching had a young Breed of great
agility for her _vis-a-vis_. "She or her partner 'll do it," he went on,
almost audibly. "Good," he was becoming enthusiastic, "there's another
couple done," as two more suddenly departed, and flung themselves on the
ground exhausted. "Yes, they'll do it--crums, but there goes her
partner! Keep it up, girl--keep it up. The others won't be long. Stay
with--"

He broke off in alarm as he felt his arm suddenly clutched from behind.
Simultaneously he felt heavy breathing blowing upon his cheek. Quick as
a flash his revolver was whipped out and he swung round.

"Easy, sergeant," said the voice of one of his troopers. "For Gawd's
sake don't shoot. Say, Retief's down at the settlement. A messenger's
jest come up to say he's 'hustled' all our horses from Lablache's
stable, and the old man himself's in trouble. Come over to that bluff
yonder, the messenger's there. He's one of Lablache's clerks."

The police-officer was dumbfounded, and permitted himself to be
conducted to the bluff without a word. He was wondering if he were
dreaming, so sudden and unexpected was the announcement of the disaster.

When he halted at the bluff, the clerk was still discussing the affair
with one of the troopers. As yet the other two were in their places of
concealment, and were in ignorance of what had happened.

"It's dead right," the clerk said, in answer to Horrocks's sharply-put
inquiry. "I'd been in bed sometime when I was awakened by a terrible
racket going on in the office. It's just under the room I sleep in.
Well, I hopped out of bed and slipped on some clothes, and went
downstairs, thinking the governor had been taken with a fit or
something. When I got down the office was in darkness, and quiet as
death. I went cautiously to work, for I was a bit scared. Striking a
light I made my way in, expecting to find the governor laid out, but,
instead, I found the furniture all chucked about and the room empty. It
wasn't two shakes before I lit upon this sheet of paper. It was lying on
the desk. The governor's writing is unmistakable. You can see for
yourself; here it is--"

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