THE DANCE IN SUNK HOLE.

A low-ceiled room with a bar at the end near the door. The odor of smoke, liquor, and perspiration. The place lighted with oil-lamps having dirty chimneys. The lights of the lamps dancing and flaring to the stamp of many heavy-shod feet. A maze of human beings whirling, shifting, prancing, and cutting figures on the floor. Rough-looking men, bearded and armed; disheveled women, their faces glowing with excitement and from the effects of drink. At the far end of the room an old man, mounted on a square box and seated on a chair, sawing away for dear life at his fiddle, while he called the figures in a sing-song tone.

And this was the way the fiddler called:

"First couple balance and swing, Promenade the inside ring, Promenade the outside ring, Balance and swing and cast off six, Ladies to the right and gents to the left.

Swing the one you swung before, Down the center and cast off four, Swing the one that comes to you, Down the center and cast off two."

The men were such as most women would avoid. With few exceptions, they had wicked faces. They had been drinking, and at intervals some elated and enthusiastic fellow would utter a blood-curdling yell.

But the figures they cut were laughable at times. They "spanked 'er down" furiously. They seized their partners and swung them until often they were lifted off their feet. But those were not the sort of women to mind.

Three or four of the citizens of Sunk Hole were married. Two had daughters old enough to be present at the dance. Other "ladies" had come in from the surrounding country, brought there by their partners.

There were a number of Mexicans in the crowd, and three or four Mexican women.

Into this smoky room came yet another Mexican, a young man, dressed in soiled finery, his wide-brimmed high-peaked hat shading his face. He had a little mustache that was pointed on the ends, and he walked with a swagger. Immediately on entering he made for the bar and called for a drink.

Had any one been watching him closely that person must have noticed that he did not drink the stuff put out to him, but slyly and deftly tossed the contents of the gla.s.s into a corner under the bar.

This newcomer was Frank Merriwell, who had disguised himself as well as possible and boldly walked into this den of ruffians.

Having pretended to drink, Frank stood back in a retired spot and looked the dancers over.

In a moment his eyes fell on Cimarron Bill, who had a Mexican girl for a partner and was enjoying himself in his own peculiar way.

Frank knew it would not be safe to come face to face with Bill, although he saw at once that the desperado had been drinking heavily and could barely "navigate" through the mazes of the dance.

"Gents cha.s.se and put on style, Resash and a little more style-- Little more style, gents, little more style,"

sang the fiddler; and the dancers strictly obeyed the admonition by putting on all the style of which they were capable.

Under different circ.u.mstances Merry would have been amused by the spectacle; and even now, for all of his peril, he was greatly interested.

Cimarron Bill was not habitually a hard drinker, but on this occasion he had surprised everybody present by the amount of whisky he had imbibed.

He seemed determined to get intoxicated, and it was plain that he was making a success of it.

Frank did not wish to dance if he could avoid it, knowing he might be brought face to face with Bill in the course of some of the figures.

All around the sides of the room men were leaning and looking on, some of them laughing and calling to various dancers.

"Go it, Seven Spot!"

"Spank it down, Dandy!"

"Steady, Pie Face! Your left hoof belongs to the church!"

"See Honeydew! He's a holy terror!"

"Watch Lanky Jim cut a pigeon wing!"

"Say, Big Kate can dance some! You bet your boots!"

"Hi! hi! There goes Sweet William, plumb off his pins!"

Now the fiddler was calling:

"First lady out to the right; Swing the man that stole the sheep, Now the one that packed it home, Now the one that eat the meat, Now the one that gnawed the bones."

Frank found an opportunity to slip along the wall toward the back of the room. No one seemed to pay any attention to him until he accidentally stepped on a big fellow's foot. Instantly he was given a shove, and the man growled:

"What in thunder ails ye, you yaller-skinned greaser? Keep off my corns, ur I'll make hash o' you with my toad-sticker!"

"Pardon, senor, pardon!" entreated Merry, in a soft voice, with an accent that seemed perfectly natural. "I deed not mean to do eet, senor."

"Ef I'd 'lowed ye did I'd sure slashed ye without no talk whatever!" was the retort.

Having no desire to get into trouble, Merry took great pains to avoid stepping on another foot, and he finally reached the point he sought. In the corner at the far end of the room there was not so much light. A bench ran along there, and Frank found a seat on it, where he could lean against the thin board part.i.tion, and he did not mind if some of the men stood up before him so that he was partly screened.

Merry knew full well that he had done a most reckless thing in entering that place, where all around him were ruffians and murderers; but there was something about the adventure that he relished, and the danger gave it a spice that was far from disagreeable.

He thanked his lucky stars that this dance had given him the opportunity to get in there without attracting any more attention.

"Meet your partner and all chaw hay, You know where and I don't care, Seat your partner in the old armchair."

That particular dance ended with this call from the fiddler; but there were no armchairs in which the ladies could be seated, and Merry crowded up into the corner in order to be as inconspicuous as possible and to escape being disturbed.

There was a general rush for the bar, the fiddler getting down from his box and hastening across the floor, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Some of the women accompanied their partners to the bar and drank with them.

Such depravity was not pleasant to witness, and Merry felt pity for the fallen creatures. Sentiment, however, he sought to put aside, thinking only of the dangerous mission that had brought him into that nest of gambolling tigers.

Two men sat down near Merry. They had been dancing, and observed, with some lurid embellishments, that it was hot. Then one of them said something that interested Frank.

"Bill's goin' it a whole lot stiff to-night."

"That's whatever. Never saw him punish the razzle juice this way afore."

"You know why, mebbe."

"Waal, I opine he's some irked up over his mistake in Holbrook. First time he ever shot the wrong gent. He warn't gunnin' fer File. It was another galoot he was after."

"I jedge that's the matter with him. Bandy tried to joke him some about it, an' Bandy came mighty near gettin' his."

"Bandy's a dern fool! He should 'a' knowed better than to shoot off his mouth at Bill."

"I say so. But Bill he's a-playin' a right steep game in that thar gal business."