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Updated: June 24, 2025
In less than a minute they were abreast of their quarry. The stranger's reins were hanging broken from the bit, and Tresler grabbed at them. Nor could he help a quiet laugh, when, on pulling up, he recognized the buckskin pony and quaint old stock saddle of Joe Nelson. And he at once became alive to the necessity of his journey. What, he wondered, had happened to the little choreman?
There were certain pensioners, mostly undeserving, who knew old Mr. Bowdoin's hours better than he did himself. It was funny to see old McMurtagh elbow these aside as he sidelonged up the street. There was an old drunken longshoreman; and a wood-chopper who never chopped wood; and a retired choreman discharged for cause by Mr. Bowdoin's wife; and another shady party, suspected by Mr.
And Andy, the choreman, was lambasting the intruder with the business end of a two-tine hay-fork, and shouting frightful curses at him in a strong American accent. As Hervey came upon the scene, Neche hurled his victim from him, either dead or dying, for the dog lay quite still where it fell upon the snow. Then, impervious to the onslaught of the choreman, he seized the other dog.
This brought him very close to Pauline's chamber, looking on the familiar balcony, but he could detect nothing wrong or unusual; Poussette was wrapped in sleep and even Martin, the Indian guide and choreman, had evidently long gone his rounds and entered the house.
The sight of all those faces gazing in wide-eyed astonishment at the fallen Jake brought home to him something of the enormity of his offense, and it behooved him to get Joe out of further harm's way. He stooped, and gathering the little choreman tenderly into his powerful arms, lifted him on to his shoulders and strode away to the bunkhouse, followed by his silent, wondering comrades.
"Guess it's fer some feller to ride to-morrow eh? Whew!" The choreman broke off and whistled softly. Something had just occurred to him. He measured Tresler with his eye, and then looked at the short-seated saddle with its high cantle and tall, abrupt horn in front. He shook his head. Tresler was not heeding him.
A girl who frankly declared at all times that she would do 'most anything to help her family out of their troubles was not of a mind to hitch up with another pauper a combination of choreman and cashier even though she had linked their names casually in speech. And Mr. Britt mouthed mumblingly some of the sentiments he had put into words that morning when he arose.
"And this is the reason you've stayed so long on the ranch?" he asked. "Mebbe. I don't reckon as I could 'a' done much," Joe answered hopelessly. "What could a drunken choreman do anyways? Leastways the pore kid hadn't got no mother, an' I guess ther' wa'n't a blazin' soul around as she could yarn her troubles to. When she got fixed, I guess ther' wa'n't no one to put her right.
"Oh, hang Jake!" exclaimed Tresler, impatiently; "I'm sick to death of hearing of his terrorizing. He can't eat me " "No, but he'll make you wish he could," put in the choreman, quietly. "He'd find me a tough mouthful," Tresler laughed. "Mebbe. How came you around that house?" "I simply wandered there by chance. I was smoking and taking a stroll. I'd been all round the ranch."
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