PAGE 4
The Trail Tramp
by
Kelley observed their distant, if not contemptuous, nods to his employer’s wife as they chanced to meet her on the street, but he said no word, even when some of the town loafers frankly commented on it. He owed nothing to Harford. “It’s not my job to defend his wife’s reputation.” Nevertheless, it made him hot when he heard one of these loafers remark: “I met the old major the other evening driving along the river road with Harf’s wife. Somebody better warn the major, or there’ll be merry hell and a military funeral one of these days.”
“I reckon you’re mistaken,” said Kelley.
“Not by a whole mile! It was dark, but not so dark but that I could see who they were. They were in a top buggy, drivin’ that slick nag the old man is so choice about.”
“When was it?” asked Kelley.
“Night before last. I met ’em up there just at the bend of the river.”
Kelley said no more, for he remembered that Anita had called for the horse on that date just about sundown, and had driven away alone. She returned alone about ten–at least, she drove up to the stable door alone, but he recalled hearing the low tones of a man’s voice just before she called.
It made him sad and angry. He muttered an imprecation against the whole world of men, himself included. “If I hadn’t seen her–if I didn’t know how sweet and kind and pretty she was–I wouldn’t mind,” he said to himself. “But to think of a little babe like her–” He checked himself. “That old cockalorum needs killing. I wonder if I’ve got to do it?” he asked in conclusion.
II
Harford came home the next day, and for several weeks there was no further occasion for gossip, although Kelley had his eyes on the major so closely that he could neither come nor go without having his action analyzed. He kept close record of Anita’s coming and going also, although it made him feel like a scoundrel whenever she glanced at him. He was sure she was only the thoughtless child in all her indiscretions, with a child’s romantic admiration of a handsome uniform.
“I’ll speak to her,” he resolved. “I’ll hand her out a word of warning just to clear my conscience. She needs a big brother or an uncle–some one to give her a jolt, and I’ll do it!”
The opportunity came one day soon after Harford’s return, but his courage almost failed at the moment of meeting, so dainty, so small, so charming, and so bird-like did the young wife seem.
She complimented him again on the condition of the mare and asked, timidly, “How much does my husband pay you?”
“More than I’m worth,” he replied, with gloomy self-depreciation.
She caught the note of bitterness in his voice and looked at him a moment in surprised silence, her big eyes full of question. “What made you say that?”
Kelley, repenting of his lack of restraint, smiled and said: “Oh, I felt that way–for a minute. You see, I used to lead a high life of ease. I was a nobleman–an Irish lord.”
She smiled and uttered an incredulous word, but he went on:
“Yes, although my name is Kelley, I belong to a long line of kings. I’m working as hostler just to square myself fer having killed a man. You see, my queen was kind o’ foolish and reckless and let a certain English duke hang round her till I got locoed, and, being naturally quick on the trigger, I slew him.”
She was not stupid. She understood, and with quick, resentful glance she took the reins from his hands and stepped into the carriage.
Kelley, silenced, and with a feeling that he had bungled his job, fell back a pace, while she drove away without so much as a backward glance.
“I reckon she got it,” he said, grimly, as he went back to his work. “I didn’t put it out just the way I had it in my head, but she ‘peared to sense enough of it to call me a Piute for butting in. If that don’t work on her I’ll tack a warning on the major which nobody will misread fer a joke.”