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The Trail Tramp
by
As the hours of the afternoon went by he became more and more uneasy. “I hope she’ll turn up before dark, fer Harf is liable to get back any minute,” he said a dozen times, and when at last he saw her coming up the street with a woman in the seat beside her he breathed deeply and swore heartily in his relief. “I guess my parable kind o’ worked,” he said, exultantly. “She’s kept clear of the old goat this trip.”
The little lady stopped her horse at the door of the stable and with a cool and distant nod alighted and walked away.
“I’m the hostler now–sure thing,” grinned Kelley. “No raise of pay fer Tall Ed this week.”
He was in reality quite depressed by the change in her attitude toward him. “Reckon I didn’t get just the right slaunch on that warning of mine–and yet at the same time she ought to have seen I meant it kindly.–Oh well, hell! it’s none o’ my funeral, anyway. Harford is no green squash, he’s a seasoned old warrior who ought to know when men are stealing his wife.” And he went back to his dusty duties in full determination to see nothing and do nothing outside the barn.
Nevertheless, when, thereafter, anybody from the fort asked for bay Nellie, he gave out that she was engaged, and the very first time the major asked for the mare Kelley not only brusquely said, “She’s in use,” but hung up the receiver in the midst of the major’s explanation.
The town gossips were all busy with the delightful report that Mrs. Harford had again been seen driving with the major, whose reputation for gallantry, monstrously exaggerated by the reek of the saloons, made even a single hour of his company a dash of pitch to the best of women. Kelley speculated on just how long it would take Harford to learn of these hints against his wife. Some of his blunt followers were quite capable of telling him in so many words that the major was doing him wrong, and when they did an explosion would certainly take place.
One day a couple of Harford’s horses, standing before the stable, became frightened and ran away up the street. Kelley, leaping upon one of the fleetest broncos in the stalls, went careering in pursuit just as Anita came down the walk. He was a fine figure of a man even when slouching about the barn, but mounted he was magnificent. It was the first time he had ridden since the loss of his own outfit, and the feel of a vigorous steed beneath his thighs, the noise of pounding feet, the rush of air, filled his heart with mingled exultation and regret. He was the centaur again.
Anita watched him pass and disappear with a feeling of surprise as well as of admiration. She was skilled in reading the character of men on horseback, and peculiarly sensitive to such an exhibition of grace and power. Her hostler was transformed into something new and wholly admirable, and she gladly took the trouble to watch for his return, as she could not witness the roping and the skilful subduing of the outlaws.
The picture he made as he tore along, swinging his rope, had displaced that of the dirty, indifferent hostler, and Anita thereafter looked upon him with respect, notwithstanding his presumptuous warning, which still lay heavy in her ears.
She still resented his interference, but she resented it less now that she knew him better. She began to wonder about him. Who was he? Why was he the hostler? Naturally, being wise in certain ways of men, she inferred that strong drink had “set him afoot”; but when she hesitantly approached her husband on this point, his reply was brusque: “I don’t know anything about Kelley, and don’t want to know. So long as he does his work his family vault is safe.”