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He had a canteen, but Dobe would need water. But Dobe was thoroughly familiar with the trail from Antelope to the White Hills. And Dobe smelled the presence of his kind, even while Bartley, peering ahead in the dusk, rode on, not aware that some one was camped within calling distance of the trail. A cluster of junipers hid the faint glow of the camp-fire. Dobe stopped suddenly.
He pulled himself together and drank the coffee and ate some bacon. From time to time he glanced at Scott, fascinated by the miner's tremendous forearms, his mighty chest and shoulders. Even Cheyenne, who was a fair-sized man, appeared like a boy beside the miner. Bartley wondered that such tremendous strength should be isolated, hidden back there behind the foothills.
The Senator half-filled a tumbler from a cold, dark bottle and handed it to Bartley. "'Green River," he said. "Mrs. Brown," said Bartley as he bowed. Then the Senator escorted Bartley to the bathroom. The tub was already filled with steaming water. A row of snow-white towels hung on the rack. The Senator waved his hand and, stepping out, closed the door.
When he returned the morning sun was beginning to make itself felt. "I'll toss up to see who wears the moccasins," said Bartley. "I'm more used to hiking than you are." "Spin her!" As Bartley tossed the coin, Cheyenne called. The half-dollar dropped and stuck edge-up in the sand. "You wear 'em the first fifteen miles and then we'll swap," said Cheyenne.
Robinson, and their wives, and the widow Bartley, and well, there's a lot of them; but these are the ones that Peter was thickest with, and used to write about sometimes, when he wrote home; so Harvey 'll know where to look for friends when he gets here." Well, the old man went on asking questions till he just fairly emptied that young fellow.
Mr. Hobson, and Deacon Lot Hovey, and Mr. Ben Rucker, and Abner Shackleford, and Levi Bell, and Dr. Robinson, and their wives, and the widow Bartley. Rev. Hobson and Dr. Robinson was down to the end of the town a-hunting together that is, I mean the doctor was shipping a sick man to t'other world, and the preacher was pinting him right. Lawyer Bell was away up to Louisville on business.
Bartley was not very grateful for this generous defence; he thought that if Ricker had not been such an ass in the first place there would have been no trouble between them, and Witherby would not have had that handle against him. He was enjoying himself very well, and he felt entitled to the comparative rest which had not been of his seeking.
"I have a son, and his name is Walter," said the Colonel, stiffly. "I think, sir," said musical Monckton, "that he left your house about fourteen years ago, and you lost sight of him for a time?" "That is so, sir." "He entered the service of a Mr. Robert Bartley as a merchant's clerk." "I doubt that, sir."
Everybody in Bartley knew that Helen Markson's mother, who was very beautiful and lovable, had died years before, and that her stepmother had been Mrs. Markson only two or three years; that the second Mrs. Markson had married for money, and that her husband was afraid of her, and would run away from her if it wasn't for Helen; that Mrs.
But that night, when she followed him to the door, she looked him searchingly in the eyes. "I wonder if you really do despise me, Bartley?" she asked. "Certainly," he answered, with a jesting smile. "What for?" "For showing out my feelings so. For not even trying to pretend not to care everything for you." "It wouldn't be any use your trying: I should know that you did, anyway."
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