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Updated: May 12, 2025
There were items, showing that on seven occasions during the past month a horse had been placed at the disposal of Mrs. Harboro. Harboro was almost foolishly bewildered. Sylvia had gone riding seven times during the month, and she had not even mentioned the matter to him! Clearly here was a mystery.
"Never mind," said Harboro crisply; and he achieved his place in the saddle by sheer force rather than by skill. Neither did he fall into an easy position; though under ordinary circumstances this fact would not have been noted. But Sylvia swiftly recalled the picture of a dun horse with golden dapples, and of a rider whose very attitude in the saddle was like a hymn of praise.
"Come, stop long enough to have a drink," said Dunwoodie, blushing without apparent cause and shaking Harboro awkwardly by the hand. And then, as if this blunt invitation might prove too transparent, he added: "I was in a game last night, and I'm needing one." There was no need for Dunwoodie to explain his desire for a drink or his disinclination to drink alone.
Harboro and Sylvia followed, and presently they were quite near to two quaint old carts, heaped high with mesquite fagots destined for the humbler hearths of Eagle Pass. Donkeys were tethered near by, and two Mexicans, quite old and docile in appearance, came forward to greet the intruders. Valdez exchanged greetings with them.
She wouldn't have been asked to perform this task in any case. You would have thought that Harboro was dealing with a child rather than a woman his wife. It seemed the most natural thing in the world for him to take complete charge of her from the beginning. She uttered a little cry when she entered the bedroom. There by the bed was her trunk, which she had left at home.
Their horses had been brought and they were in their saddles, their horses' heads already in the direction of Eagle Pass. Valdez was adding final instructions touching the road. "If you're not quite sure of the way I'll get some one to ride in with you," said Wayne; but Harboro would not listen to this.
She was regarding Harboro wanly. "You shouldn't have come back," she said. She had not moved. "I didn't go away," said Harboro. Her features went all awry. "You mean " "I've spent the day in the guest-chamber. I had to find out. I had to make sure." "Oh, Harboro!" she moaned; and then with an almost ludicrously swift return to habitual, petty concerns: "You've had no food all day."
The General Manager got the idea that the big fellow would be a good man to stand shoulder to shoulder with in larger events than a special trip. When he got back to headquarters he made a casual inquiry or two, and discovered that Harboro wrote an exceptionally good hand, and that he spelled correctly.
She had not taken in the fact that the man's presence, or anything that he had done, had annoyed Harboro. She was wondering what kind of man it was who had captivated and held the woman who had filled her boudoir with passionate music, and who knew how to keep an expressionless mask in place so skilfully that no one on the border really knew her.
A soldier doesn't desert his wounded comrade in battle. He bears him to safety or both perish together. And by such deeds is the consciousness of God established in us." "Wait!" commanded Harboro. He clinched his fists. A phrase had clung to him: "He bears him to safety or both perish together!" He arose from the seat he had taken and staggered away half a dozen steps, his hands still clinched.
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