et back any
minute," he said a dozen times, and when at last he saw her coming up
the street with a woman in the seat beside her he breathed deeply and
swore heartily in his relief. "I guess my parable kind o' worked," he
said, exultantly. "She's kept clear of the old goat this trip."

The little lady stopped her horse at the door of the stable and with a
cool and distant nod alighted and walked away.

"I'm the hostler now--sure thing," grinned Kelley. "No raise of pay fer
Tall Ed this week."

He was in reality quite depressed by the change in her attitude toward
him. "Reckon I didn't get just the right slaunch on that warning of
mine--and yet at the same time she ought to have seen I meant it
kindly.--Oh well, hell! it's none o' my funeral, anyway. Harford is no
green squash, he's a seasoned old warrior who ought to know when men are
stealing his wife." And he went back to his dusty duties in full
determination to see nothing and do nothing outside the barn.

Nevertheless, when, thereafter, anybody from the fort asked for bay
Nellie, he gave out that she was engaged, and the very first time the
major asked for the mare Kelley not only brusquely said, "She's in use,"
but hung up the receiver in the midst of the major's explanation.

The town gossips were all busy with the delightful report that Mrs.
Harford had again been seen driving with the major, whose reputation for
gallantry, monstrously exaggerated by the reek of the saloons, made even
a single hour of his company a dash of pitch to the best of women.
Kelley speculated on just how long it would take Harford to learn of
these hints against his wife. Some of his blunt followers were quite
capable of telling him in so many words that the major was doing him
wrong, and when they did an explosion would certainly take place.

One day a couple of Harford's horses, standing before the stable, became
frightened and ran away up the street. Kelley, leaping upon one of the
fleetest broncos in the stalls, went careering in pursuit just as Anita
came down the walk. He was a fine figure of a man even when slouching
about the barn, but mounted he was magnificent. It was the first time he
had ridden since the loss of his own outfit, and the feel of a vigorous
steed beneath his thighs, the noise of pounding feet, the rush of air,
filled his heart with mingled exultation and regret. He was the centaur
again.

Anita watched him pass and disappear with a feeling of surprise as