rtiliser.

Annixter shouted:

"Nice eye, Santa Claus."

But Annixter's attention wandered. He searched for Hilma Tree, having
still in mind the look in her eyes at that swift moment of danger. He
had not seen her since then. At last he caught sight of her. She was not
dancing, but, instead, was sitting with her "partner" at the end of the
barn near her father and mother, her eyes wide, a serious expression on
her face, her thoughts, no doubt, elsewhere. Annixter was about to go to
her when he was interrupted by a cry.

Old Broderson, in the midst of a double shuffle, had clapped his hand
to his side with a gasp, which he followed by a whoop of anguish. He
had got a stitch or had started a twinge somewhere. With a gesture
of resignation, he drew himself laboriously out of the dance, limping
abominably, one leg dragging. He was heard asking for his wife. Old Mrs.
Broderson took him in charge. She jawed him for making an exhibition of
himself, scolding as though he were a ten-year-old.

"Well, I want to know!" she exclaimed, as he hobbled off, dejected and
melancholy, leaning upon her arm, "thought he had to dance, indeed! What
next? A gay old grandpa, this. He'd better be thinking of his coffin."

It was almost midnight. The dance drew towards its close in a storm
of jubilation. The perspiring musicians toiled like galley slaves; the
guests singing as they danced.

The group of men reassembled in the harness room. Even Magnus Derrick
condescended to enter and drink a toast. Presley and Vanamee, still
holding themselves aloof, looked on, Vanamee more and more disgusted.
Dabney, standing to one side, overlooked and forgotten, continued to
sip steadily at his glass, solemn, reserved. Garnett of the Ruby rancho,
Keast from the ranch of the same name, Gethings of the San Pablo, and
Chattern of the Bonanza, leaned back in their chairs, their waist-coats
unbuttoned, their legs spread wide, laughing--they could not tell why.
Other ranchers, men whom Annixter had never seen, appeared in the room,
wheat growers from places as far distant as Goshen and Pixley; young men
and old, proprietors of veritable principalities, hundreds of thousands
of acres of wheat lands, a dozen of them, a score of them; men who were
strangers to each other, but who made it a point to shake hands with
Magnus Derrick, the "prominent man" of the valley. Old Broderson, whom
every one had believed had gone home, returned, though much sobered, and
took