CHAPTER VII

THE “BRONCO KID’S” EAVESDROPPING

Late in July it grows dark as midnight approaches, so that the many lights from doorway and window seem less garish and strange than they do a month earlier.  In the Northern there was good business doing.  The new bar fixtures, which had cost a king’s ransom, or represented the one night’s losings of a Klondike millionaire, shone rich, dark, and enticing, while the cut glass sparkled with iridescent hues, reflecting, in a measure, the prismatic moods, the dancing spirits of the crowd that crushed past, halting at the gambling games, or patronizing the theatre in the rear.  The old bar furniture, brought down by dog team from “Up River,” was established at the rear extremity of the long building, just inside the entrance to the dancehall, where patrons of the drama might, with a modicum of delay and inconvenience, quaff as deeply of the beaker as of the ballet.

Now, however, the show had closed, the hall had been cleared of chairs and canvas, exposing a glassy, tempting surface, and the orchestra had moved to the stage.  They played a rollicking, blood-stirring two-step, while the floor swam with dancers.

At certain intervals the musicians worked feverishly up to a crashing crescendo, supported by the voices of the dancers, until all joined at the top note in a yell, while the drummer fired a .44 Colt into a box of wet sawdust beside his chair—­all in time, all in the swinging spirit of the tune.

The men, who were mostly young, danced like college boys, while the women, who were all young and good dancers, floated through the measures with the ease of rose-leaves on a summer stream.  Faces were flushed, eyes were bright, and but rarely a voice sounded that was not glad.  Most of the noise came from the men, and although one caught, here and there, a hint of haggard lines about the girlish faces, and glimpsed occasional eyes that did not smile, yet as a whole the scene was one of genuine enjoyment.

Suddenly the music ceased and the couples crowded to the bar.  The women took harmless drinks, the men, mostly whiskey.  Rarely was the choice of potations criticised, though occasionally some ruddy eschewer of sobriety insisted that his lady “take the same,” avowing that “hootch,” having been demonstrated beneficial in his case, was good for her also.  Invariably the lady accepted without dispute, and invariably the man failed to note her glance at the bartender, or the silent substitution by that capable person of ginger-ale for whiskey or of plain water for gin.  In turn, the mixers collected one dollar from each man, flipping to the girl a metal percentage-check which she added to her store.  In the curtained boxes overhead, men bought bottles with foil about the corks, and then subterfuge on the lady’s part was idle, but, on the other hand, she was able to pocket for each bottle a check redeemable at five dollars.