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Updated: May 13, 2025
O God, when should I get used to it? Wandering down the Gully Ravine one morning, I encountered a long line of men marching up it in single file. I passed as close to them as possible, so that, by a glance at their shoulder-straps, I might ascertain their regiment. No sooner had I learned who they were than I turned about and hurried back to Monty's dug-out.
The hatches were battened down, and it was a sorry company that tried to while away the evening in the main cabin. Monty's chafing about the advantages of the North Cape over the stormy Atlantic was not calculated to raise the drooping spirits, and it was very early when he and his shattered guests turned in. There was little sleep on board the "Flitter" that night.
She lived well and sensibly, with none of the extravagance that characterized the cottage. Yet it was inevitable that Brewster's guests should see hers and join some of their riding parties. Monty pleaded that he was not well enough to be in these excursions, but neither he nor Barbara cared to over-emphasize their estrangement. Peggy Gray was in despair over Monty's attitude.
Read at Monty's service in Trolley Ravine, it sounded like a Special Order of the Day. I remembered what the Colonel had hinted about Suvla, and wondered whether at similar services there it was being listened to like a last message to the Suvla Army. Not long had I returned to my fire trenches before our bombardment opened.
Monty did not wait for any guiding rein to turn him. He wheeled on a space about as big as a cigar-box, and hit the trail for home, and for some time he and Whitey gave a fair imitation of a runaway train on a down grade. All Whitey could do was to lie low on Monty's neck, digging his moccasins into Monty's ribs, for fear he would change his mind which he didn't.
Both were bent down, with hands on the butts of guns at their hips. Nels's piercing yell seemed to divide Monty's roar of rage. Then they ceased, and echoes clapped from the crags. The silence of those three men crouching like tigers about to leap was more menacing than the nerve-racking yells. Then the guerrillas wavered and broke and ran for their horses.
I'm with you, and Monty's gone for help." "Oh! I daren't jump," sobbed Russell; "oh mother, I shall be drowned. Save me! save me! I'm so glad they're safe, mother; but my leg hurts so." And he moaned again. He was delirious. "How cold it is, and wet too! where's Eric? are we bathing? run along, we shall be late. But stop, you're smoking. Dear Eric, don't smoke.
What with Monty's borrowed coat, with its dazzling effect upon Ambrose, and Link's oft-repeated allusion to Ed's matrimonial state, and Stillwell's vociferated disgust, and the clamoring good intention and pursuit of the cowboy supporters, and the embarrassing presence of the ladies, Ambrose and Ed wore through all manner of strange play until it became ridiculous.
They've taken on superior airs. You couldn't reach up to Monty with a trimmed spruce pole. An' Link wal, he's just amazin' scornful. "'It's a swell game, ain't it? says Link, powerful sarcastic. 'Wal, what's hurtin' you low-down common cowmen? You keep harpin' on Monty's game leg an' on my game leg. If we hed good legs we'd beat you all the wuss. It's brains that wins in gol-lof.
You were a loser by several thousand dollars then," she objected with whimsical inconsistency. "But, Peggy," he said quietly, looking deep into her eyes, "it would have won me your respect." Monty's situation was desperate. Only a little more than six thousand dollars had been spent on the carnival and no opportunity of annihilating the roulette winnings seemed to offer itself.
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