But abruptly there was a veritable sensation.From out the little crowd that persistently huddled about the doorway came Osterman.He wore a dress-suit with a white waistcoat and patent leather pumps--what a wonder! A little qualm of excitement spread around the barn.One exchanged nudges of the elbow with one's neighbour, whispering earnestly behind the hand.What astonishing clothes! Catch on to the coat-tails! It was a masquerade costume, maybe; that goat Osterman was such a josher, one never could tell what he would do next.
The musicians began to tune up.From their corner came a medley of mellow sounds, the subdued chirps of the violins, the dull bourdon of the bass viol, the liquid gurgling of the flageolet and the deep-toned snarl of the big horn, with now and then a rasping stridulating of the snare drum.A sense of gayety began to spread throughout the assembly.At every moment the crowd increased.The aroma of new-sawn timber and sawdust began to be mingled with the feminine odour of sachet and flowers.There was a babel of talk in the air--male baritone and soprano chatter--varied by an occasional note of laughter and the swish of stiffly starched petticoats.On the row of chairs that went around three sides of the wall groups began to settle themselves.For a long time the guests huddled close to the doorway; the lower end of the floor was crowded! the upper end deserted; but by degrees the lines of white muslin and pink and blue sateen extended, dotted with the darker figures of men in black suits.The conversation grew louder as the timidity of the early moments wore off.Groups at a distance called back and forth;conversations were carried on at top voice.Once, even a whole party hurried across the floor from one side of the barn to the other.
Annixter emerged from the harness room, his face red with wrangling.He took a position to the right of the door, shaking hands with newcomers, inviting them over and over again to cut loose and whoop it along.Into the ears of his more intimate male acquaintances he dropped a word as to punch and cigars in the harness room later on, winking with vast intelligence.
Ranchers from remoter parts of the country appeared: Garnett, from the Ruby rancho, Keast, from the ranch of the same name, Gethings, of the San Pablo, Chattern, of the Bonanza, and others and still others, a score of them--elderly men, for the most part, bearded, slow of speech, deliberate, dressed in broadcloth.
Old Broderson, who entered with his wife on his arm, fell in with this type, and with them came a certain Dabney, of whom nothing but his name was known, a silent old man, who made no friends, whom nobody knew or spoke to, who was seen only upon such occasions as this, coming from no one knew where, going, no one cared to inquire whither.
Between eight and half-past, Magnus Derrick and his family were seen.Magnus's entry caused no little impression.Some said:
"There's the Governor," and called their companions' attention to the thin, erect figure, commanding, imposing, dominating all in his immediate neighbourhood.Harran came with him, wearing a cut-away suit of black.He was undeniably handsome, young and fresh looking, his cheeks highly coloured, quite the finest looking of all the younger men; blond, strong, with that certain courtliness of manner that had always made him liked.He took his mother upon his arm and conducted her to a seat by the side of Mrs.Broderson.
Annie Derrick was very pretty that evening.She was dressed in a grey silk gown with a collar of pink velvet.Her light brown hair that yet retained so much of its brightness was transfixed by a high, shell comb, very Spanish.But the look of uneasiness in her large eyes--the eyes of a young girl--was deepening every day.The expression of innocence and inquiry which they so easily assumed, was disturbed by a faint suggestion of aversion, almost of terror.She settled herself in her place, in the corner of the hall, in the rear rank of chairs, a little frightened by the glare of lights, the hum of talk and the shifting crowd, glad to be out of the way, to attract no attention, willing to obliterate herself.
All at once Annixter, who had just shaken hands with Dyke, his mother and the little tad, moved abruptly in his place, drawing in his breath sharply.The crowd around the great, wide-open main door of the barn had somewhat thinned out and in the few groups that still remained there he had suddenly recognised Mr.
and Mrs.Tree and Hilma, making their way towards some empty seats near the entrance of the feed room.
In the dusky light of the barn earlier in the evening, Annixter had not been able to see Hilma plainly.Now, however, as she passed before his eyes in the glittering radiance of the lamps and lanterns, he caught his breath in astonishment.Never had she appeared more beautiful in his eyes.It did not seem possible that this was the same girl whom he saw every day in and around the ranch house and dairy, the girl of simple calico frocks and plain shirt waists, who brought him his dinner, who made up his bed.Now he could not take his eyes from her.
Hilma, for the first time, was wearing her hair done high upon her head.The thick, sweet-smelling masses, bitumen brown in the shadows, corruscated like golden filaments in the light.Her organdie frock was long, longer than any she had yet worn.It left a little of her neck and breast bare and all of her arm.
Annixter muttered an exclamation.Such arms! How did she manage to keep them hid on ordinary occasions.Big at the shoulder, tapering with delicious modulations to the elbow and wrist, overlaid with a delicate, gleaming lustre.As often as she turned her head the movement sent a slow undulation over her neck and shoulders, the pale amber-tinted shadows under her chin, coming and going over the creamy whiteness of the skin like the changing moire of silk.The pretty rose colour of her cheek had deepened to a pale carnation.Annixter, his hands clasped behind him, stood watching.
