er's father was a Quaker preacher and we
had never been allowed to dance at home. The ladies regarded my
clumsiness with motherly forbearance, and self-sacrificingly tried to
direct my wayward feet. But either because I was not recovered from my
trip or because the strangeness and confusion wearied me, I could not
get the hang of the steps. Presently an understanding matron let me
slip out of the dance, and I sat down by the fiddler and dozed.
Clanking spurs, brilliant chaps, fur-trimmed trappers' jackets,
thudding moccasins, gaudy Indian blankets and gay feathers, voluminous
feminine flounces swinging from demure, snug-fitting basques--all
whirled above me in a kaleidoscopic blur!

[Illustration: I sat down by the fiddler and dozed.]

A wild war whoop awakened me--nothing but a little harmless hilarity!
It was two o'clock in the morning. I wished the dance would end so I
could sleep undisturbed. I envied the two children asleep on the
floor. But the dance went on. The fiddle whined, its player shouted,
heavy shoes clumped tirelessly on the plank floor. There was still
energetic swing and dash to the quadrilles, still gay voices were
raised in joyous shouts. Those hearty pioneers were full of "wim,
wigor and witality"!

Dawn broke redly over the Divide; still the dance continued. Daylight
sifted over the white world, and yet the dancers did not pause. At
last as the sun came up, the old fiddler reluctantly stood on his chair
and played "Home Sweet Home."

All-night dances were at that time the custom of the mountain folk; the
company assembled as far ahead of time as was convenient, and remained,
sometimes, a day or two after the close of the festivities. There was
no doubt as to one's welcome and there was no limit to the length of
his stay. Isolation made opportunities for such social intercourse
rare and therefore everyone got more "kick" out of these occasions than
is possible in our swiftly moving, blase age.

Weather conditions changed while we danced: the wind eased off and the
mountain tops emerged from the clouds and drifting snow. I trailed up
the canyon I had struggled through in the darkness; and except for the
final stretch of the steep mountain above timberline the snowshoeing
was nothing except plain hard work. In some places the wind had packed
the snow hard; again it was soft so that I sank knee deep at every
step. In the soft snow, where there was a steep slope to negotiate,
each