The Sky Pilot | Page 7

wink, "it is
remarkable, in a healthy country like this, how many epidemics come
near ketching us."
And with this mystifying explanation we joined the mysterious
company of the Noble Seven.
CHAPTER II
THE COMPANY OF THE NOBLE SEVEN
As we were dismounting, the cries, "Hello, Jack!" "How do, Dale?"
"Hello, old Smoke!" in the heartiest of tones, made me see that my
cousin was a favorite with the men grouped about the door. Jack simply
nodded in reply and then presented me in due form. "My tenderfoot
cousin from the effete," he said, with a flourish. I was surprised at the
grace of the bows made me by these roughly- dressed, wild-looking
fellows. I might have been in a London drawing-room. I was put at my
ease at once by the kindliness of their greeting, for, upon Jack's
introduction, I was admitted at once into their circle, which, to a
tenderfoot, was usually closed.
What a hardy-looking lot they were! Brown, spare, sinewy and hard as
nails, they appeared like soldiers back from a hard campaign. They

moved and spoke with an easy, careless air of almost lazy indifference,
but their eyes had a trick of looking straight out at you, cool and
fearless, and you felt they were fit and ready.
That night I was initiated into the Company of the Noble Seven--but of
the ceremony I regret to say I retain but an indistinct memory; for they
drank as they rode, hard and long, and it was only Jack's care that got
me safely home that night.
The Company of the Noble Seven was the dominant social force in the
Swan Creek country. Indeed, it was the only social force Swan Creek
knew. Originally consisting of seven young fellows of the best blood of
Britain, "banded together for purposes of mutual improvement and
social enjoyment," it had changed its character during the years, but not
its name. First, its membership was extended to include "approved
colonials," such as Jack Dale and "others of kindred spirit," under
which head, I suppose, the two cowboys from the Ashley Ranch, Hi
Keadal and "Bronco" Bill--no one knew and no one asked his other
name--were admitted. Then its purposes gradually limited themselves
to those of a social nature, chiefly in the line of poker-playing and
whisky-drinking. Well born and delicately bred in that atmosphere of
culture mingled with a sturdy common sense and a certain high
chivalry which surrounds the stately homes of Britain, these young lads,
freed from the restraints of custom and surrounding, soon shed all that
was superficial in their make-up and stood forth in the naked simplicity
of their native manhood. The West discovered and revealed the man in
them, sometimes to their honor, often to their shame. The Chief of the
Company was the Hon. Fred Ashley, of the Ashley Ranch, sometime of
Ashley Court, England--a big, good- natured man with a magnificent
physique, a good income from home, and a beautiful wife, the Lady
Charlotte, daughter of a noble English family. At the Ashley Ranch the
traditions of Ashley Court were preserved as far as possible. The Hon.
Fred appeared at the wolf-hunts in riding-breeches and top boots, with
hunting crop and English saddle, while in all the appointments of the
house the customs of the English home were observed. It was
characteristic, however, of western life that his two cowboys, Hi
Kendal and Bronco Bill, felt themselves quite his social equals, though

in the presence of his beautiful, stately wife they confessed that they
"rather weakened." Ashley was a thoroughly good fellow, well up to
his work as a cattle-man, and too much of a gentleman to feel, much
less assert, any superiority of station. He had the largest ranch in the
country and was one of the few men making money.
Ashley's chief friend, or, at least, most frequent companion, was a man
whom they called "The Duke." No one knew his name, but every one
said he was "the son of a lord," and certainly from his style and bearing
he might be the son of almost anything that was high enough in rank.
He drew "a remittance," but, as that was paid through Ashley, no one
knew whence it came nor how much it was. He was a perfect picture of
a man, and in all western virtues was easily first. He could rope a steer,
bunch cattle, play poker or drink whisky to the admiration of his
friends and the confusion of his foes, of whom he had a few; while as
to "bronco busting," the virtue par excellence of western cattle-men,
even Bronco Bill was heard to acknowledge that "he wasn't in it with
the Dook, for it was his opinion that he could ride anythin' that had legs
in under