“Jacky, my dear,” said the old lady in dismay.  “What are you doing?  Where are you going?”

“Guess I’m going to see the fun—­I’ve a notion there’ll be some.”

“But—­”

“Don’t ‘but’ me, Aunt Margaret, I take it you aren’t deaf.”

The old lady relapsed into dignified silence, but there was much concern and a little understanding in her eyes as she watched the girl pass out to the corrals.

CHAPTER XVIII

THE PUSKY

A pusky is a half-breed dance.  That is the literal meaning of the word.  The practical translation, however, is often different.  In reality it is a debauch—­a frightful orgie, when all the lower animal instincts—­and they are many and strong in the half-breed—­are given full sway.  When drunkenness and bestial passions rule the actions of these worse than savages.  When murder and crimes of all sorts are committed without scruple, without even thought.  Latterly things have changed, and these orgies are less frequent among the Breeds, or, at least, conducted with more regard for decorum.  But we are talking of some years ago, at a time when the Breeds had to learn the meaning of civilization—­before good order and government were thoroughly established in this great Western country; in the days when Indian “Sun” dances, and other barbarous functions were held.  In the days of the Red River Jig, when a good fiddler of the same was held to be a man of importance; when the method of tuning the fiddle to the necessary pitch for the playing of that curious dance was a secret known only to a privileged few.  Some might call them the “good” old days.  “Bad” is the adjective which best describes that period.

When Horrocks and his men set out for the Breed camp they had discarded their police clothes and were clad in the uncouth garb of the half-breeds.  They had even gone to the length of staining their faces to the coppery hue of the Indians.  They were a ragged party, these hardy riders of the plains, as they embarked on their meditated capture of the desperate raider.  All of the five were “tough” men, who regarded their own lives lightly enough—­men who had seen many stirring times, and whose hairbreadth escapes from “tight” corners would have formed a lengthy narrative in themselves.  They were going to they knew not what now, but they did not shrink from the undertaking.  Their leader was a man whose daring often outweighed his caution, but, as they well knew, he was endowed with a reckless man’s luck, and they would sooner follow such as he—­for they were sure of a busy time—­than work with one of his more prudent colleagues.