"You're to come with me, Aggy," he growled.
"Pray don't mention it!" cried Joe, relinquishing the girl to Quinn with a mocking reverence.
Shrugging her shoulders, and pouting, Aggy moved away with her captor; not, however, without a parting glance over her shoulder at Joe. The two brothers met at the kitchen-door.
"I say, Joe," Lem begged, "don't dance with that girl again."
"And why not!"
"You wouldn't ask why not if you had seen that ruffian's face at the window."
"Didn't I see it, though?" scoffed Joe, in high spirits, and Lem knew that he had blundered.
A new caller-out had taken the floor, and was shouting, "Seventeen to twenty-four, get on the floor and dance!"
The pauses are short at a ranch dance, for each man, having a right in only one dance out of three or four, is eager for his turn. The women on this particular occasion might have been glad of a rest, for there were only ten of them to satisfy the demands of all the men, and steady dancing from eight o'clock to three is no light task. Nevertheless, each one rose with sufficient alacrity in response to the polite inquiry, "Will you assist me with this dance?" and in a few minutes the same many-colored woollen gowns, and much befrizzled heads, which had diversified the last sets, were lending lustre to the present dance.
Neither Bub Quinn nor Joe Keith was included this time among those admonished to "get on the floor and dance," and Lem, thankful for the respite, stepped out on the piazza, where a group of men were lounging and smoking. The air outside was sharp and invigorating; the moon was full, and in its cold, clear light the Peak glimmered white and ghostly.