d 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 h