It was the etiquette—unvarying in Saxon outlands—that he who danced with a damsel must lead her to the bar after they twain had trod a measure, else lack in a decent respect for the opinion of mankind. Of actual sets, of any measured cæsura, there was none. The music was furnished by rum-soaked men who sat apart on barrels, the same who had welcomed that morning the first Texas herd ever seen in Abilene. Such as it was, and supported by fiery stimulant, the concord was continuous, the floors were always full. Men danced in hats and boots and spurs. The voice of a submerged set caller droned on: “Dolcie do! Allemand left! Swing your partner! Lift her high!” It was festival in Abilene.
McMasters and Wild Bill Hickok passed from door to door, the quietest and soberest men in all the town. There approached them a man in uniform, a sergeant of the United States Army. He recognized McMasters.
“I’ve been looking for you, sir,” said he. “I am up from the Wichita Mountains, from Colonel Griswold. I’ve got two ambulances and an escort of five men for each. I was to offer you any help you required, sir, and to put the ambulances under your order if any of your people wished to travel south. The colonel could not come. He sends his compliments and hopes you are quite well. He thinks it would be much safer for you to travel south across the Nations under military escort. He hopes the young lady will occupy one ambulance for her own in case you sell out, and start south, sir.”
“All right, sergeant,” replied McMasters; “that’s very fine of Colonel Griswold. The young lady has sold her herd to-day and will be starting south before long. Where are your ambulances and your men?”
The sergeant grinned, somewhat embarrassed.
“The ambulances are at the Twin Star Barn,” said he. “I put my mules and horses in there too. I guess my men may be scattered.”
“Stop your drinking,” said Dan McMasters. “You may be needed to-night. Go get your men together. Be at the Silver Moon half an hour from now.”
“Very good, sir,” said the man, and saluted again. He cast a longing eye through windows as he passed down the street.
Near the door of the Silver Moon Dance Hall a man pushed by them, anxious; Nabours, looking around him, not hurrying to the bar.