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Updated: May 2, 2025
It rolled up fast, and presently I saw a man on horseback; then I didn't see him; then he had crossed the bridge and was pounding down the track-side toward the depot. He pulled up and spoke to a trainman, and after that he walked his horse as if he was satisfied. This is Harshaw, I thought, and a very pretty fellow, but not in the least like an Idaho legislator.
I hope "Kitty" won't have any; but still more I hope that her young man will arrive on schedule time, and that they can trot round the corner and be married, with Tom and me for witnesses, as speedily as possible. I've had such a blow! Tom, with an effort, has succeeded in remembering this Mr. Harshaw who is poor Kitty's fate. Tom was on the supper committee of the ball the city gave them.
But I'm afraid Harshaw wasn't one of the nice ones, or I should have remembered him myself; we had them to dinner all who were at all worth while. Poor Kitty! There is so little here to come for but the man. Well, my dear, here's a pretty kettle of fish! Kitty has arrived, and one Mr. Harshaw. Where the Mr. Harshaw is, quien sabe! It's awfully late.
Blister Haines found an old pair of chaps for Bob Dillon and lent him a buckskin bronco. Also, he wrote a note addressed to Harshaw, of the Slash Lazy D, and gave it to the boy. "He'll put you to ridin', Ed will. The rest's up to you. D-don't you forget you're made in the l-likeness of God. When you feel like crawlin' into a hole s-snap that red haid up an' keep it up."
He had never been under fire and his throat dried at the anticipation. "Sure," he answered. "We're humpin' along right lively. Be there in time, I expect. Too bad if we have to chase 'em again all over the map." Box Cañon is a sword slash cut through the hills. From wall to wall it is scarcely forty feet across. One looks up to a slit of blue sky above. Harshaw halted close to the entrance.
The early settlers could get a deer whenever they wanted one. Many were shot from the doors of their cabins. While Harshaw, Dud, and Bob were working Wolf Creek another heavy snow fell. A high wind swept the white blanket into deep drifts. All day the riders ploughed through these to rescue gaunt and hungry cattle. Night caught them far from the cabin where they had been staying.
"An' I took a bath only yesterday," he lamented. The food was sun-dried and the wagon repacked. At Dry Creek, which was now a rushing torrent, Harshaw threw the cattle into a draw green with young grass and made camp for the night. "We got neighbors," announced Big Bill, watching a thin column of smoke rising from the mesa back of them. "Guess I'll drift over after supper," Harshaw said.
All these troubles could wait till the real Mr. Harshaw had been heard from. My husband would see that her letter reached him promptly, and in the mean time Mr. Cecil need not be told that we were proving his little story. I was forced to humor her own theory of her case; but I have no idea, myself, that Cecil Harshaw has not told the truth.
She took out of her bag a steamer-cap, and when she had put it on I could see that poor Harshaw dared not trust himself to look at her, her fair face exposed, and so very fair, in its tender, soft coloring, against that grim, wind-beaten waste of dust and sage.
I will except prejudiced persons, like his cousin and the lady he is so bent on making, by hook or by crook, a Mrs. Harshaw. Mr. I wonder if she ever saw him with his mouth bare? I wonder if she would have accepted him if she had? He was so funny about his cousin, the promoter; so absolutely unconscious of his own asinine position.
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