Inexorably Sam Galloway saddled his pony. He was going away from the RanchoAltito at the end of a three-months’ visit. It is not to be expected thata guest should put up with wheat coffee and biscuits yellow-streaked withsaleratus for longer than that. Nick Napoleon, the big Negro man cook, hadnever been able to make good biscuits. Once before, when Nick was cooking atthe Willow Ranch, Sam had been forced to fly from his cuisine, afteronly a six-weeks’ sojourn.
On Sam’s face was an expression of sorrow, deepened with regret andslightly tempered by the patient forgiveness of a connoisseur who cannot beunderstood. But very firmly and inexorably he buckled his saddle-cinches,looped his stake-rope and hung it to his saddle-horn, tied his slicker and coaton the cantle, and looped his quirt on his right wrist. The Merrydews(householders of the Rancho Altito), men, women, children, and servants,vassals, visitors, employés, dogs, and casual callers were grouped in the“gallery” of the ranch house, all with faces set to the tune ofmelancholy and grief. For, as the coming of Sam Galloway to any ranch, camp, orcabin between the rivers Frio or Bravo del Norte aroused joy, so his departurecaused mourning and distress.
And then, during absolute silence, except for the bumping of a hind elbow of ahound dog as he pursued a wicked fl