111
Billy's Tenderfoot 132
The Two Cartridges 153
The Race 180
The Saving Grace 198
The Prospector 222
The Girl in Red 246
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BLAZED TRAIL STORIES
AND
STORIES OF THE WILD LIFE
I
THE RIVERMAN
I first met him one Fourth of July afternoon in the middle eighties. The
sawdust streets and high board sidewalks of the lumber town were filled
to the brim with people. The permanent population, dressed in the
stiffness of its Sunday best, escorted gingham wives or sweethearts; a
dozen outsiders like myself tried not to be too conspicuous in a city
smartness; but the great multitude was composed of the men of the woods.
I sat, chair-tilted by the hotel, watching them pass. Their heavy
woollen shirts crossed by the broad suspenders, the red of their sashes
or leather shine of their belts, their short kersey trousers "stagged"
off to leave a gap between the knee and the heavily spiked "cork
boots"--all these were distinctive enough of their class, but most
interesting to me were the eyes that peered from beneath their little
round hats tilted rakishly askew. They were all subtly alike, those
eyes. Some were black, some were brown, or gray, or blue, but all were
steady and unabashed, all looked straight at you with a strange humorous
blending of aggression and respect for your own business, and all
without exception wrinkled at the corners with a suggestion of dry
humor. In my half-conscious scrutiny I probably stared harder than I
knew, for all at once a laughing pair of the blue eyes suddenly met mine
full, and an ironical voice drawled,
"Say, bub, you look as interested as a man killing snakes. Am I your
long-lost friend?"
The tone of the voice matched accurately the attitude of the man, and
that was quite non-committal. He stood cheerfully ready to meet the
emergency. If I sought trouble, it was here to my hand; or if I needed
help he was willing to offer it.
"I guess you are," I replied, "if you can tell me what all this outfit's
headed for."
He thrust back his hat and ran his hand through a mop of closely cropped
light curls.
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