When A Mans A Man | Page 6

he bore himself with the
unmistakable air of a matured and self-reliant man. Every nerve and
fiber of him seemed alive with that vital energy which is the true
beauty and the glory of life.
The two men presented a striking contrast. Without question one was
the proud and finished product of our most advanced civilization. It
was as evident that the splendid manhood of the other had never been
dwarfed by the weakening atmosphere of an over-cultured, too
conventional and too complex environment. The stranger with his
carefully tailored clothing and his man-of-the-world face and bearing
was as unlike this rider of the unfenced lands as a daintily groomed
thoroughbred from the sheltered and guarded stables of fashion is
unlike a wild, untamed stallion from the hills and ranges about Granite
Mountain. Yet, unlike as they were, there was a something that marked
them as kin. The man of the ranges and the man of the cities were, deep
beneath the surface of their beings, as like as the spirited thoroughbred
and the unbroken wild horse. The cowboy was all that the stranger
might have been. The stranger was all that the cowboy, under like
conditions, would have been.
As they silently faced each other it seemed for a moment that each
instinctively recognized this kinship. Then into the dark eyes of the
stranger--as when he had watched the cowboy at the Burnt
Ranch--there came that look of wistful admiration and envy.

And at this, as if the man had somehow made himself known, the
horseman relaxed his attitude of tense readiness. The hand that had held
the bridle rein to command instant action of his horse, and the hand that
had rested so near the rider's hip, came together on the saddle horn in
careless ease, while a boyish smile of amusement broke over the young
man's face.
That smile brought a flash of resentment into the eyes of the other and a
flush of red darkened his untanned cheeks. A moment he stood; then
with an air of haughty rebuke he deliberately turned his back, and,
seating himself again, looked away over the landscape.
But the smiling cowboy did not move. For a moment as he regarded the
stranger his shoulders shook with silent, contemptuous laughter; then
his face became grave, and he looked a little ashamed. The minutes
passed, and still he sat there, quietly waiting.
Presently, as if yielding to the persistent, silent presence of the
horseman, and submitting reluctantly to the intrusion, the other turned,
and again the two who were so like and yet so unlike faced each other.
It was the stranger now who smiled. But it was a smile that caused the
cowboy to become on the instant kindly considerate. Perhaps he
remembered one of the Dean's favorite sayings: "Keep your eye on the
man who laughs when he's hurt."
"Good evening!" said the stranger doubtfully, but with a hint of
conscious superiority in his manner.
"Howdy!" returned the cowboy heartily, and in his deep voice was the
kindliness that made him so loved by all who knew him. "Been having
some trouble?"
"If I have, it is my own, sir," retorted the other coldly.
"Sure," returned the horseman gently, "and you're welcome to it. Every
man has all he needs of his own, I reckon. But I didn't mean it that way;
I meant your horse."

The stranger looked at him questioningly. "Beg pardon?" he said.
"What?"
"I do not understand."
"Your horse--where is your horse?"
"Oh, yes! Certainly--of course--my horse--how stupid of me!" The tone
of the man's answer was one of half apology, and he was smiling
whimsically now as if at his own predicament, as he continued. "I have
no horse. Really, you know, I wouldn't know what to do with one if I
had it."
"You don't mean to say that you drifted all the way out here from
Prescott on foot!" exclaimed the astonished cowboy.
The man on the ground looked up at the horseman, and in a droll tone
that made the rider his friend, said, while he stretched his long legs
painfully: "I like to walk. You see I--ah--fancied it would be good for
me, don't you know."
The cowboy laughingly considered--trying, as he said afterward, to
figure it out. It was clear that this tall stranger was not in search of
health, nor did he show any of the distinguishing marks of the tourist.
He certainly appeared to be a man of means. He could not be looking
for work. He did not seem a suspicious character--quite the
contrary--and yet--there was that significant hurried movement as if to
escape when the horseman had surprised him. The etiquette of the
country forbade a direct question, but--
"Yes," he agreed thoughtfully, "walking comes in handy sometimes.