The Patrol of the Sun Dance Trail [58]
how rich we are in true friends and kind neighbors, and now that you have built this house let me say that henceforth by day or by night you are welcome to it, for it is yours."
After the storm of applause had died down, a voice was heard gruffly and somewhat anxiously protesting, "But not all at one time."
"Who was that?" asked Mandy of young Dent as the supper party broke up.
"That's Smith," said Dent, "and he's a queer one."
"Smith?" said Cameron. "The chap meets us everywhere. I must look him up."
But there was a universal and insistent demand for "the pipes."
"You look him up, Mandy," cried her husband as he departed in response to the call.
"I shall find him, and all about him," said Mandy with determination.
The next two hours were spent in dancing to Cameron's reels, in which all, with more or less grace, took part till the piper declared he was clean done.
"Let Macgregor have the pipes, Cameron," cried the Inspector. "He is longing for a chance, I am sure, and you give us the Highland Fling."
"Come Moira," cried Cameron gaily, handing the pipes to Macgregor and, taking his sister by the hand, he led her out into the intricacies of the Highland Reel, while the sides of the living- room, the doors and the windows, were thronged with admiring onlookers. Even Andy Hepburn's rugged face lost something of its dourness; and as the brother and sister together did that most famous of all the ancient dances of Scotland, the Highland Fling, his face relaxed into a broad smile.
"There's Smith," said young Dent to Mandy in a low voice as the reel was drawing to a close.
"Where?" she cried. "I have been looking for him everywhere."
"There, at the window, outside."
Even in the dim light of the lanterns and candles hung here and there upon the walls and stuck on the window sills, Smith's face, pale, stern, sad, shone like a specter out of the darkness behind.
"What's the matter with the man?" cried Mandy. "I must find out."
Suddenly the reel came to an end and Cameron, taking the pipes from young Macgregor, cried, "Now, Moira, we will give them our way of it," and, tuning the pipes anew, he played over once and again their own Glen March, known only to the piper of the Cuagh Oir. Then with cunning skill making atmosphere, he dropped into a wild and weird lament, Moira standing the while like one seeing a vision. With a swift change the pipes shrilled into the true Highland version of the ancient reel, enriched with grace notes and variations all his own. For a few moments the girl stood as if unwilling to yield herself to the invitation of the pipes. Suddenly, as if moved by another spirit than her own, she stepped into the circle and whirled away into the mazes of the ancient style of the Highland Fling, such as is mastered by comparatively few even of the Highland folk. With wonderful grace and supple strength she passed from figure to figure and from step to step, responding to the wild mad music as to a master spirit.
In the midst of the dance Mandy made her way out of the house and round to the window where Smith stood gazing in upon the dancer. She quietly approached him from behind and for a few moments stood at his side. He was breathing heavily like a man in pain.
"What is it, Mr. Smith?" she said, touching him gently on the shoulder.
He sprang from her touch as from a stab and darted back from the crowd about the window.
"What is it, Mr. Smith?" she said again, following him. "You are not well. You are in pain."
He stood a moment or two gazing at her with staring eyes and parted lips, pain, grief and even rage distorting his pale face.
"It is wicked," at length he panted. "It is just terrible wicked-- a young girl like that."
"Wicked? Who? What?"
"That--that girl--dancing like that."
"Dancing? That kind of dancing?" cried Mandy, astonished. "I was brought up a Methodist myself," she continued, "but that kind of dancing--why, I love it."
"It is of the devil. I am a Methodist--a preacher--but I could not preach, so I quit. But
After the storm of applause had died down, a voice was heard gruffly and somewhat anxiously protesting, "But not all at one time."
"Who was that?" asked Mandy of young Dent as the supper party broke up.
"That's Smith," said Dent, "and he's a queer one."
"Smith?" said Cameron. "The chap meets us everywhere. I must look him up."
But there was a universal and insistent demand for "the pipes."
"You look him up, Mandy," cried her husband as he departed in response to the call.
"I shall find him, and all about him," said Mandy with determination.
The next two hours were spent in dancing to Cameron's reels, in which all, with more or less grace, took part till the piper declared he was clean done.
"Let Macgregor have the pipes, Cameron," cried the Inspector. "He is longing for a chance, I am sure, and you give us the Highland Fling."
"Come Moira," cried Cameron gaily, handing the pipes to Macgregor and, taking his sister by the hand, he led her out into the intricacies of the Highland Reel, while the sides of the living- room, the doors and the windows, were thronged with admiring onlookers. Even Andy Hepburn's rugged face lost something of its dourness; and as the brother and sister together did that most famous of all the ancient dances of Scotland, the Highland Fling, his face relaxed into a broad smile.
"There's Smith," said young Dent to Mandy in a low voice as the reel was drawing to a close.
"Where?" she cried. "I have been looking for him everywhere."
"There, at the window, outside."
Even in the dim light of the lanterns and candles hung here and there upon the walls and stuck on the window sills, Smith's face, pale, stern, sad, shone like a specter out of the darkness behind.
"What's the matter with the man?" cried Mandy. "I must find out."
Suddenly the reel came to an end and Cameron, taking the pipes from young Macgregor, cried, "Now, Moira, we will give them our way of it," and, tuning the pipes anew, he played over once and again their own Glen March, known only to the piper of the Cuagh Oir. Then with cunning skill making atmosphere, he dropped into a wild and weird lament, Moira standing the while like one seeing a vision. With a swift change the pipes shrilled into the true Highland version of the ancient reel, enriched with grace notes and variations all his own. For a few moments the girl stood as if unwilling to yield herself to the invitation of the pipes. Suddenly, as if moved by another spirit than her own, she stepped into the circle and whirled away into the mazes of the ancient style of the Highland Fling, such as is mastered by comparatively few even of the Highland folk. With wonderful grace and supple strength she passed from figure to figure and from step to step, responding to the wild mad music as to a master spirit.
In the midst of the dance Mandy made her way out of the house and round to the window where Smith stood gazing in upon the dancer. She quietly approached him from behind and for a few moments stood at his side. He was breathing heavily like a man in pain.
"What is it, Mr. Smith?" she said, touching him gently on the shoulder.
He sprang from her touch as from a stab and darted back from the crowd about the window.
"What is it, Mr. Smith?" she said again, following him. "You are not well. You are in pain."
He stood a moment or two gazing at her with staring eyes and parted lips, pain, grief and even rage distorting his pale face.
"It is wicked," at length he panted. "It is just terrible wicked-- a young girl like that."
"Wicked? Who? What?"
"That--that girl--dancing like that."
"Dancing? That kind of dancing?" cried Mandy, astonished. "I was brought up a Methodist myself," she continued, "but that kind of dancing--why, I love it."
"It is of the devil. I am a Methodist--a preacher--but I could not preach, so I quit. But