The fiddler’s time, slow at the commencement, soon grew faster, and the dancers shook their limbs in delighted anticipation.  Faster and faster they shuffled and jigged, now opposite to partners, now round each other, now passing from one partner to another, now alone, for the admiration of the onlookers.  Nor was there pause or hesitation.  An instant’s pause meant dropping out of that mad and old time “hoe-down,” and each coveted the distinction of champion.  Faster and more wildly they footed it, and soon the speed caused some of the less agile to drop out.  It was a giddy sight to watch, and the strange clapping of the spectators was not the least curious feature of the scene.

The crowd of dancers grew thinner as the fiddler, with a marvelous display of latent energy, kept ever-increasing his speed.

In spite of himself Horrocks became fascinated.  There was something so barbarous—­heathenish—­in what he beheld.  The minutes flew by, and the dance was rapidly nearing its height.  More couples fell out, dead beat and gasping, but still there remained a number who would fight it out to the bitter end.  The streaming faces and gaping lips of those yet remaining told of the dreadful strain.  Another couple dropped out, the woman actually falling with exhaustion.  She was dragged aside and left unnoticed in the wild excitement.  Now were only three pairs left in the center of the floor.

The police-officer found himself speculating as to which would be the winner of the contest.

“That brown-faced wench, with the flaming red dress, ’ll do ’em all,” he said to himself.  The woman he was watching had a young Breed of great agility for her vis-a-vis.  “She or her partner ’ll do it,” he went on, almost audibly.  “Good,” he was becoming enthusiastic, “there’s another couple done,” as two more suddenly departed, and flung themselves on the ground exhausted.  “Yes, they’ll do it—­crums, but there goes her partner!  Keep it up, girl—­keep it up.  The others won’t be long.  Stay with—­”

He broke off in alarm as he felt his arm suddenly clutched from behind.  Simultaneously he felt heavy breathing blowing upon his cheek.  Quick as a flash his revolver was whipped out and he swung round.

“Easy, sergeant,” said the voice of one of his troopers.  “For Gawd’s sake don’t shoot.  Say, Retief’s down at the settlement.  A messenger’s jest come up to say he’s ‘hustled’ all our horses from Lablache’s stable, and the old man himself’s in trouble.  Come over to that bluff yonder, the messenger’s there.  He’s one of Lablache’s clerks.”

The police-officer was dumbfounded, and permitted himself to be conducted to the bluff without a word.  He was wondering if he were dreaming, so sudden and unexpected was the announcement of the disaster.

When he halted at the bluff, the clerk was still discussing the affair with one of the troopers.  As yet the other two were in their places of concealment, and were in ignorance of what had happened.