The Sagebrusher | Page 4

him sharply outlined in the clear air.
He stood uncertainly now, his foot turned over, as he always stood,
there seeming never at any time any determination or even animation
about him. And yet he longed, apparently, for some sort of human
companionship, but still he argued with his friend and asked him not to
hurry away.
None the less after a few moments Wid Gardner did turn away. He
passed out at the rail bars which fenced off the front yard from the
willow-covered banks of a creek which ran nearby. A half-dozen head
of mixed cattle followed him up to the gate, seeking a wider world. A
mule thrust out his long head from a window of the log stable where it
was imprisoned, and brayed at him anxiously, also seeking outlet.
But Sim Gage, apathetic, one foot lopped over, showed no agitation
and no ambition. The wisp of grass which hung now from the corner of
his mouth seemed to suit him for the time. He stood chewing and

looking at his departing visitor.
"Some folks is too damn dirty," said Wid Gardner to himself as he
passed now along the edge of the willow bank toward the front gate of
his own ranch, a half-mile up the stream. "And him talking about a
woman!" He flung out his hand in disgust at the mere thought.
That is to say, he did at first. Then he began to walk more slowly. A
touch of reflectiveness came upon his own face.
"Still," said he to himself after a time--speaking aloud as men of the
wilderness sometimes learn to do--"I don't know!"
He turned into his own gate, approached his own cabin, its exterior
much like that of the one which but now he had left. He paused for a
moment at the door as he looked in, regarding its somewhat neater
appearance.
"Well, and even so," said he. "I don't know. Still and after all, now, a
woman----"
CHAPTER II
WANTED: A WIFE
"I couldn't have ate at Sim's place if he would of asked me to,"
grumbled Wid Gardner aloud to himself as he busied himself about his
own household duties in his bachelor cabin. "He's too damn dirty, like I
said, and that's a fact."
Wid's cabin itself was in general appearance no better, if no worse, than
the average in the Two Forks Valley. There was a bed on a rude pole
frame--little more than a heap of blankets as they had been thrown
aside that morning. The table still held the dishes which had been used,
but at least these had been washed, and there was thrown across them
what had served as a dish-towel, a washed and dried, fairly clean flour
sack which had been ripped out and turned into a towel. There was a
box nailed up behind the stove which served as a sort of store room for

the scant supplies, and this had a flap at the top, so that it was partly
curtained off. Another box nailed against the wall behind the table
served as book case and paper rack, holding, among a scant array of
ancient standard volumes, a few dog-eared paper-backed books of
cheap and dreadful sort, some illustrated journals showing pictures of
actresses and film celebrities--precisely the sort of literature which may
be found in most wilderness bachelor homes.
At one end of the up-turned box which served as a sort of reading table
lay a pile of similar magazines, not of abundant folios, but apparently
valued, for they showed more care than any other of the owner's
treasures. It was, curiously enough, to this little heap of literature that
Wid Gardner presently turned.
Forgetful of the hour and of his waiting cows, he sat down, a copy in
his hands, his face taking on a new sort of light as he read. At times, as
lone men will, he broke out into audible soliloquy. Now and again his
hand slapped his knee, his eye kindled, he grinned. The pages were
ill-printed, showing many paragraphs, apparently of advertising nature,
in fine type, sometimes marked with display lines.
Wid turned page after page, grunting as he did so, until at last he tossed
the magazine upon the top of the box and so went about his evening
chores. Thus the title of the publication was left showing to any
observer. The headline was done in large black letters, advising all who
might have read that this was a copy of the magazine known as Hearts
Aflame.
Curiously enough, on the front page the headline of a certain
advertisement showed plainly. It read, "Wanted: A Wife."
From this it may be divined that here was one of those periodicals
printed no one knows where, circulated no one knows how, which