"Tex" — Reading Companion

dy had set before him, the domestic tragedy certainly would have sent him plunging down to his former level or below it.

Time passed and finally brought him news of the tragic death of his faithless wife, and he found that it did not touch him. He had felt neither pity, sorrow, nor relief. It is doubtful if he ever had given a thought to the question of his freedom, for with his mental attitude it meant nothing at all to him. He had put among his belongings the letter from his former employer, who had known all about the affair and the names and addresses of several of his western friends, telling him that he was free; and hardly gave it a second thought.

Turning from his careless scrutiny of the distant pass he rode on again and soon became aware of the sound of hoofbeats rapidly nearing him. As he looked up a rider topped a rise, descried him, and waved a sombrero. The newcomer dashed recklessly down the slope and drew rein sharply at his side, a cheerful grin wreathing his homely, honest face. Pete was slow-witted, but his sterling qualities masked this defect even in the eyes of a man as sharp as his companion, who felt for him a strong, warm friendship.

"Hello, Tex!" said the newcomer. "What’s eatin’ you? You shore look glum."

Tex thought if it was plain enough for Pete Wilson to notice it, it must be plain, indeed. "Mental worms an’ moral cancer, Pete," replied the cynic, smiling in spite of himself at the cogitation started in his friend by the words.

"Whatever that means," replied Pete, cautiously. "However, if it’s what I reckon it is, there’s just two cures." Pete was dogmatic by nature. "An’ that’s likker, or a new range."

"Somethin’s th’ matter with you today, Pete," rejoined Tex. "Yo’re as quick as a reflex." He studied a moment, and added: "An’ yo’re dead right, too."

"There ain’t no reflection needed," retorted Pete; "an’ there ain’t nothin’ th’ matter with me a-tall. I’m tellin’ you common sense; but it’s shore a devil of a choice. If it’s likker, then you lose; if it’s driftin’ off som’ers, then we lose. Tell you what: Go down to Twin River an’ clean ’em out at stud, if you can find anybody that ain’t played you before," he suggested hopefully. "Mebby there’s a stranger in town. You’ll shore feel a whole lot better, then." He grinned suddenly. "You might find a travelin’ man: they’re so cussed smart they don’t think anybody can learn ’em anythin’. Go ahead--try it!"

Tex laughed. "Where you goin’?" he abruptly demanded. He could not afford to have any temptations thrown in his way just then.

"Over Cyclone way, for Buck. Comin’ along?"

Tex slowly shook his head. "I’m goin’ th’ other way. Wonder why we haven’t got word from Hoppy or Red or Johnny?" he asked, and the question acted like alum in muddy water, clearing away his doubts and waverings, which swiftly precipitated and left the clear fluid of decision.

"Huh!" snorted Pete in frank disgust. "You wait till any of them fellers write an’ there’ll be a white stone over yore head with nice letterin’ on it to tell lies forever. You know ’em. Comin’ along with me?" he asked, wheeling, and was answered by an almost imperceptible shake of his friend’s head.

"I’ll shake hands with you, Pete," said Tex, holding out his deft but sinewy hand. "In case I don’t see you again," he explained in answer to his friend’s look of surprise. "I’m mebby driftin’ before you get back."

"Cuss it!" exploded Pete. "I’m allus talkin’ too blamed much. Now I’ve gone an’ done it!"

"You’ve only hastened it a little," assured Tex, gripping the outstretched hand spasmodically. "Cheer up; I don’t aim to stay away forever!" He spurred his mount and shot away up the incline, Pete looking after him and slowly shaking his head.

When the restless puncher stopped again it was at the kitchen door of the white ranchhouse. As he swung from the saddle something stung him where his trousers were tight and he stopped his own jump to grab the horse, which had been stung in turn. A snicker and a quick rustle sounded under the summer kitchen and Tex took the coiled rope from his saddle, deftly unfastening the restraining knot. The rustling sounded again, frantic and sustained, followed by a half-defiant, half-supplicating jeer.