hat Thea would have a
better time if she went alone, and she watched her daughter go out of
the gate and down the sidewalk that led to the depot.

Thea walked slowly. It was a soft, rosy evening. The sand hills were
lavender. The sun had gone down a glowing copper disk, and the fleecy
clouds in the east were a burning rose-color, flecked with gold. Thea
passed the cottonwood grove and then the depot, where she left the
sidewalk and took the sandy path toward Mexican Town. She could hear the
scraping of violins being tuned, the tinkle of mandolins, and the growl
of a double bass. Where had they got a double bass? She did not know
there was one in Moonstone. She found later that it was the property
of one of Ramas's young cousins, who was taking it to Utah with him
to cheer him at his "job-a."

The Mexicans never wait until it is dark to begin to dance, and Thea had
no difficulty in finding the new hall, because every other house in the
town was deserted. Even the babies had gone to the ball; a neighbor was
always willing to hold the baby while the mother danced. Mrs.
Tellamantez came out to meet Thea and led her in. Johnny bowed to her
from the platform at the end of the room, where he was playing the
mandolin along with two fiddles and the bass. The hall was a long low
room, with whitewashed walls, a fairly tight plank floor, wooden benches
along the sides, and a few bracket lamps screwed to the frame timbers.
There must have been fifty people there, counting the children. The
Mexican dances were very much family affairs. The fathers always danced
again and again with their little daughters, as well as with their
wives. One of the girls came up to greet Thea, her dark cheeks glowing
with pleasure and cordiality, and introduced her brother, with whom she
had just been dancing. "You better take him every time he asks you," she
whispered. "He's the best dancer here, except Johnny."

Thea soon decided that the poorest dancer was herself. Even Mrs.
Tellamantez, who always held her shoulders so stiffly, danced better
than she did. The musicians did not remain long at their post. When one
of them felt like dancing, he called some other boy to take his
instrument, put on his coat, and went down on the floor. Johnny, who
wore a blousy white silk shirt, did not even put on his coat.

The dances the railroad men gave in Firemen's Hall were the only dances
Thea had ever been allowed to go to, and they were very different from
t