Nan of Music Mountain | Page 6

attitude of waiting at the head of the hall.
All eyes being turned their way, de Spain's at tention as well was drawn
toward them. The man was powerful in stature, and rather too heavy,
but straight as an Indian. His small, reddish face was tanned by the sun
and wind, and his manner as he stood with arms akimbo, his hands
resting on his belt, facing his partner and talking to her, had the
confidence of a man at ease with women. From the handsome hat
which, as he turned to his partner for the dance, he sent spin ning
toward a table beside the piano, the soft brown shirt and flowing tie,
down to the small, high-heeled and spurred boots, he wore the
distinctive cowboy rig of the mountains, even to the heavy hip-holster,
in which his revolver was slung. He was, in fact, rather too smartly
dressed, too confident in manner to please de Spain, who was in no
mood to be pleased anyway, and who could conceive a dislike for a
man the instant he set eyes on him and a liking as quickly. He seemed
to recall, too, that this particular fellow had crowed the loudest when he
himself forfeited the shooting-match earlier in the day.
But de Spain, unamiable as he now was, looked with unconcealed
interest at the man's dancing partner. She, too, was browned by the
mountain sun and air a slight, erect girl, her head well set, and a
delicate waist-line above a belted brown skirt, which just reached the
tops of her small, high, tan riding-boots. She wore a soft, French-gray
Stetson hat. Her dark-brown hair was deftly hidden under it, but
troublesome ring lets strayed about her ears as if she had not seen a

glass for hours, and these, standing first with one hand and then the
other laid against her leather belt, she put up into place, and as if not
wholly at ease with her surroundings. Instead of looking at her partner,
who talked to her while waiting, her eyes, noticeably pretty, wandered
about the platform, resting at moments on the closely drawn lines of
spectators. They reflected in their unrest the dissatisfied expression of
her face. A talkative woman standing just in front of de Spain, told a
companion that the man was Gale Morgan, a nephew of Satterlee,
laziest of the Morgans. De Spain, who never had to look twice at any
woman, at once recognized in the dancing partner the little Music
Mountain girl who had been his undoing at the target; the woman
added that Nan was, in some hazy degree, Gale's cousin.
The energetic piano thumped the strains of a two-step. Gale Morgan
extended his arm toward Nan; she looked very slight at his side. But
instead of taking her position, she drew back, looking up and frowning
as she seemed to speak objectingly to Gale. De Spain saw her
hesitation without catching its import. The talkative woman near at
hand was more divining. "Lord, that Nan Morgan makes me tired," she
exclaimed to her gum-chewing companion, "ever see anything like her?
First she wouldn't dance unless the floor was cleared--Sleepy Cat folks
ain't good enough for them Music Mountain cattle thieves! And now
the music doesn't suit her. Listen to that boob of a boy trying one piece
after another to get one to suit my outlaw lady. Nerve!"
But while the impatient woman chafed the right tune was found, and
Nan Morgan's face, as she watched the manipulator of the piano,
brightened. "Faster!" she cried under her breath, taking her position on
her cousin's arm. Then, responding with a sort of fiery impatience to
her partner's guiding, she caught the rapid step of the music, and
together the two swept down the floor.
Whatever the impatience of the crowd over the finicky start, the
spectators soon showed their admiration of the dancing with
unrestrained handclapping, and followed with approving outcries. De
Spain, standing apart, watched Nan's flying feet, wondering how she
and her people could possibly be what they were painted, and whether

they really were so or not. Every swaying step, every agile turn proved
how sure she was of her self, and how perfectly her body answered to
every exaction of the quick movement of the dance. Gale Morgan
seemed the merest attendant for his partner, who, with quickened
pulses, gave herself up more and more to the lively call of the music.
Once the two swung away out, near to de Spain's corner. As Nan
whirled by, de Spain, either with the infection of the music or from her
nearness to him, caught his breath. His eyes riveted themselves on her
flushed face as she passed oblivious of his presence and he recalled
how in the morning she