"Yesterday I was broncho-busting--"
Thereupon he told the whole story of what had happened since he had seen
Louise thrown from her chestnut on the prairie. He told how Louise was
too shaken and ill to attempt the journey back to Tralee, and how they
had camped where they were, near the dead horse.
As Orlando talked, the old man was seized by terrible hatred and
jealousy. "You needn't tell me the rest," he broke in, his hands savagely
opening and shutting. "I guess I understand everything."
The words had scarcely left his mouth when from the wagon a man said:
"Wait--wait, Mister. I got something to say."
He sprang to the ground, and ran between Mazarine and Orlando.
"This is where I come in," he said, as Louise's face appeared at an upper
window, and she listened. "You don't know me. Well, I know you. Everybody
knows you, and nobody likes you. I know what happened last night. I'm a
brother of your fellow Christian Rigby, the druggist, over there in
Askatoon. He's a Methodist. I'm not. I'm only good. I been a lot o'
things, and nothing in the end. Well, you hearken to my tale.
"I was tramping with my bundle on my back acrost the prairie to Askatoon
from Waterway. I'm a sundowner, as they say in Australia. When the sun
goes down, I down to my bed wherever I be on the prairie. I was
asleep-I'd been half drunk--when the chestnut threw your wife and broke
its leg; but I was awake when he rode up.
Pages:
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97
98
99
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
107
108
109
110
111