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Updated: June 23, 2025
His feet were bare, and one trouser-leg rent to the knee. His enemies had done their best to ensure prejudice, and frustrate belief. They did not see in his look what no honest man could misread. Innocent as he knew himself, he could not help feeling for a moment disconcerted. But his faithfulness threw him on the mercy of the man before him. The captain turned and sat down.
They do not wear gloves, nor are they addicted to scent on their pocket-handkerchiefs. Their boots are too often like boats, and when they are mounted there is frequently visible an interval of more or less dusky stocking between the boot-top and the trouser-leg.
He slipped the heavy weapon into the scabbard at his right leg and saw that the string held the scabbard firmly to his trouser-leg, so that he might draw the gun smoothly and without hindrance from its sheath. Sheriff Watson made no claim to being a two-handed shot.
She stroked the trouser-leg that was nearest. "How do you manage to get such a wonderful crease? You really are a credit to me!" There was a momentary silence. A shade of embarrassment made itself noticeable in Uncle Chris' frank gaze. He gave a little cough, and pulled at his mustache. "I wish I were, my dear," he said soberly. "I wish I were. I'm afraid I'm a poor sort of fellow, Jill."
Assured he would not, he entered. He took a chair on the opposite side of the table and drew out his pipe. "There ain't no wind so fierce that it don't blow you some good," he philosophized, as with deliberation he scratched a match on his trouser-leg. "I'd never hoped to see Jim Fox stand up to that city feller the way he did." "What did you think of the whole thing, anyway, Cap'n?"
More than contented, therefore, while busily his father wedded welt and sole with stitches infrangible, Gibbie sat on the floor, preparing waxed ends, carefully sticking in the hog's bristle, and rolling the combination, with quite professional aptitude, between the flat of his hand and what of trouser-leg he had left, gazing eagerly between at the advancing masterpiece.
Twenty-three hundred dollars I am offered." He gazed expectantly at Archie, as a man gazes at some favourite dog whom he calls upon to perform a trick. But Archie had reached the end of his tether. The hand that had twiddled so often and so bravely lay inert beside his trouser-leg, twitching feebly. Archie was through. "Twenty-three hundred," said the high-priest, ingratiatingly.
He wanted something and Calhoun didn't give it to him. He could not understand so preposterous a happening. He reached up and tugged at Calhoun's trouser-leg. Calhoun picked him up and tossed him the width of the control room. He'd done it often, in play, but this was somehow different. Murgatroyd stared incredulously at Calhoun.
"I don't understand" he mumbled. "He told me to keep off and I kept off." He sighed. "I'd have given a million dollars for a friend like him. I I never had one." Bob McGraw drew T. Morgan Carey's mortgage from his pocket, scratched a match on his trouser-leg and held it under the fluttering leaves.
You could track his passage across the "Place," towards the fountain of which he had fallen short like a poisoned rat that tries to reach water and fails. He lay quite alone, still grasping the gun which he had never laid aside since boyhood. No one went to him; no one had attempted to help him. He lay as he had fallen, with a thin stream of blood running slowly from one trouser-leg.
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