s find.

"Kelley's too good to be permanent," he said to his wife that night.
"He'll skip out with one of the best saddle-horses some night, or else
he'll go on a tearing drunk and send the whole outfit up in smoke. I
don't understand the cuss. He looks like the usual hobo out of a job,
but he's as abstemious as a New England deacon. 'Pears like he has no
faults at all."

Anita had been attracted to Kelley, lowly as he looked, and, upon
hearing his singular virtues recounted by her husband, opened her eyes
in augmented interest. All the men in her world were rough. Her father
drank, her brothers fought and swore and cheated, and her husband was as
free of speech in her presence as if she were another kind of man,
softening his words a little, but not much. Therefore, the next time she
met Kelley she lingered to make conversation with him, rejoicing in his
candid eyes and handsome face. She observed also that his shirt was
clean and his tie new. "He looks almost like a soldier," she thought,
and this was her highest compliment.

Surrounded as she was by gamblers, horse-jockeys, cattle-buyers, and
miners, all (generally speaking) of the same slouchy, unkempt type, she
recognized in the officers of the fort gentlemen of highest breeding and
radiant charm. Erect, neat, brisk of step, the lieutenants on parade
gave off something so alien, yet so sweet, that her heart went out to
them collectively, and when they lifted their caps to her individually,
she smiled upon them all with childish unconsciousness of their
dangerous qualities.

Most of the younger unmarried men took these smiles to be as they were,
entirely without guile. Others spoke jestingly (in private) of her
attitude, but were inclined to respect Harford's reputation as a gunman.
Only the major himself was reckless enough to take advantage of the
young wife's admiration for a uniform.

Kelley soon understood the situation. His keen eyes and sensitive ears
informed him of the light estimation in which his employer's wife was
held by the major; but at first he merely said, "This is none of your
funeral, Kelley. Stick to your currycomb. Harford is able to take care
of his own."

This good resolution weakened the very next time Anita met him and
prettily praised him. "Mr. Harford says you are the best man he ever
had, and I think that must be so, for my pony never looked so clean and
shiny."

Kelley almost blushed, for (as a matter of faithful history) he ha