The music suddenly ceased, and in an instant the girl's mind cleared. She perceived that the singers were laughing as they rolled their cigarettes, and that the savage warrior dancers were gossiping together as they rested, while all about her sat plump young girls in gay dresses, very conscious of the eyes of the young men. In her early life Elsie had attended a country dance, and her changed impressions of this mad, blood-thirsty revel was indicated in her tone as she said: "Why, it's just an old-fashioned country hoe-down." Curtis laughed. "I congratulate you on your penetration," he mockingly said. The old men came up to shake hands with the agent, and on being presented to Elsie smiled reassuringly. Their manners were very good, indeed. Several of them gravely made a swift sign which caused Curtis to color and look confused, and when his answering sign caused them all to look at Lawson, Elsie demanded to know what it was all about. "Do you think you'd better know?" he asked. "Certainly, I insist on knowing," she added, as he hesitated again. He looked at her, but a little unsteadily. "They asked if you were my bride, and I replied no, that you came with Lawson." It was her turn to look confused. "The impudent things!" was all she could find to say at the moment. Red Wolf called out a few imperative words, the song began with its imitation of the wolves at war as before, then settled into a pounding chant--deep, resonant, and inspiriting. The dancers sprang forth--not all, but a part of them--as though their names had been called, while a curious little bent and withered old man crept in like a gnome and built up the fire till it blazed brightly. As they danced the younger men re-enacted with abrupt, swift, violent, yet graceful gestures the drama of wild life. They trailed game, rescued lost warriors, and defeated enemies. "You see it proceeds with decorum," said Curtis to Elsie and Mrs. Parker, as the dancers returned to their seats. "They enjoy it just as white people enjoy a cotillion, and, barring the noise of the singers, it is quite as formal and harmless." A little boy in full dancing costume now came on with the rest, and the visitors exclaimed in delight of his grace and dignity. He could not have been more than six years of age. His companion, an old man of seventy, was a good deal of a wag, and danced in comic-wise to make the on-lookers laugh. Parker was fairly hooking his chin over Curtis's shoulder to hear every word uttered and to see all that went on, and Curtis was in the midst of an explanation of the significance of the drama of the dance, when a short, sturdy, bow-legged Tetong, dressed in a policeman's uniform, pushed his way in at the door and thrust a letter at his agent's hand.