The Way of a Man | Page 5

this as in any country," said I tartly. He smiled at this.
"You know his breeding?"
"Klingwalla out of Bonnie Waters."
"No wonder he's vicious," said the stranger, calmly.
"Ah, you know something of the English strains," said I. He shrugged
his shoulders. "As much as that," he commented indifferently.
There was something about him I did not fancy, a sort of
condescension, as though he were better than those about him. They
say that we Virginians have a way of reserving that right to ourselves;
and I suppose that a family of clean strain may perhaps become proud
after generations of independence and comfort and freedom from care.
None the less I was forced to admit this newcomer to the class of
gentlemen. He stood as a gentleman, with no resting or bracing with an
arm, or crossing of legs or hitching about, but balanced on his legs
easily--like a fencer or boxer or fighting man, or gentleman, in short.
His face, as I now perceived, was long and thin, his chin square,
although somewhat narrow. His mouth, too, was narrow, and his teeth
were narrow, one of the upper teeth at each side like the tooth of a

carnivore, longer than its fellows. His hair was thick and close cut to
his head, dark, and if the least bit gray about the edges, requiring close
scrutiny to prove it so. In color his skin was dark, sunburned beyond
tan, almost to parchment dryness. His eyes were gray, the most
remarkable eyes that I have ever seen--calm, emotionless, direct, the
most fearless eyes I have ever seen in mortal head, and I have looked
into many men's eyes in my time. He was taller than most men, I think
above the six feet line. His figure was thin, his limbs thin, his hands
and feet slender. He did not look one-tenth his strength. He was simply
dressed, dressed indeed as a gentleman. He stood as one, spoke as one,
and assumed that all the world accepted him as one. His voice was
warmer in accent than even our Virginia speech. I saw him to be an
Englishman.
"He is a bit nasty, that one"; he nodded his head toward Satan.
I grinned. "I know of only two men in Fairfax County I'd back to ride
him."
"Yourself and--"
"My father."
"By Jove! How old is your father, my good fellow?"
"Sixty, my good fellow," I replied. He laughed.
"Well," said he, "there's a third in Fairfax can ride him."
"Meaning yourself?"
He nodded carelessly. I did not share his confidence. "He's not a
saddler in any sense," said I. "We keep him for the farms."
"Oh, I say, my friend," he rejoined--"my name's Orme, Gordon
Orme--I'm just stopping here at the inn for a time, and I'm deucedly
bored. I've not had leg over a decent mount since I've been here, and if
I might ride this beggar, I'd be awfully obliged."

My jaw may have dropped at his words; I am not sure. It was not that
he called our little tavern an "inn." It was the name he gave me which
caused me to start.
"Orme," said I, "Mr. Gordon Orme? That was the name of the speaker
the other evening here at the church of the Methodists."
He nodded, smiling. "Don't let that trouble you," said he.
None the less it did trouble me; for the truth was that word had gone
about to the effect that a new minister from some place not stated had
spoken from the pulpit on that evening upon no less a topic than the
ever present one of Southern slavery. Now, I could not clear it to my
mind how a minister of the gospel might take so keen and swift an
interest in a stranger in the street, and that stranger's horse. I expressed
to him something of my surprise.
"It's of no importance," said he again. "What seems to me of most
importance just at present is that here's a son of old Klingwalla, and
that I want to ride him."
"Just for the sake of saying you have done so?" I inquired.
His face changed swiftly as he answered: "We owned Klingwalla
ourselves back home. He broke a leg for my father, and was near
killing him."
"Sir," I said to him, catching his thought quickly, "we could not afford
to have the horse injured, but if you wish to ride him fair or be beaten
by him fair, you are welcome to the chance."
His eye kindled at this. "You're a sportsman, sir," he exclaimed, and he
advanced at once toward Satan.
I saw in him something which awakened a responsive chord in my
nature. He was a man to take a risk and welcome it for the