Chapter XIX. One Game at a Time - Page 2

before I will be back again, and I know you will be good to her; and if ever I need your help in this way, I promise I will come to you."

Yankee chewed his quid of tobacco hard and spat twice before he could reply. Then he answered slowly: "Now look-ye-here, I'll take that little mare and look after her, but the mare's yours and if--and if--which I don't think will happen--if you don't come back soon, why--I will send you her equivalent in cash; but I'd ruther see--I'd ruther see you come back for it!"

It was with a very lonely heart that Ranald watched out of sight the steamboat that carried to their homes in the Indian Lands the company of men who had been his comrades for the long months in the woods and on the river, and all the more that he was dimly realizing that this widening blue strip of flowing river was separating him forever from the life he so passionately loved. As his eyes followed them he thought of the home-coming that he would have shared; their meetings at the church door, the grave handshakings from the older folk, the saucy "horos" from the half-grown boys, the shy blushing glances from the maidens, and last and dearest of all, the glad, proud welcome in the sweet, serious face with the gray-brown eyes. It was with the memory of that face in his heart that he turned to meet what might be coming to him, with the resolve that he would play the man.

"Hello, old chap, who's dead?" It was Harry's gay voice. "You look like a tomb." He put his arm through Ranald's and walked with him up the street.

"Where are you going now?" he asked, as Ranald walked along in silence.

"To get some clothes."

"Thank the great powers!" ejaculated Harry to himself.

"What?"

"And where are you going to get them?"

"I do not know--some store, I suppose." Ranald had the vaguest notions not only of where he should go, but of the clothes in which he ought to array himself, but he was not going to acknowledge this to his friend.

"You can't get any clothes fit to wear in this town," said Harry, in high contempt. Ranald's heart sank. "But come along, we will find something."

As they passed in front of the little French shops, with windows filled inside and out with ready-made garments, Ranald paused to investigate.

"Oh! pshaw," cried Harry, "don't know what you'll get here. We'll find something better than this cheap stuff," and Ranald, glad enough of guidance, though uncertain as to where it might lead him, followed meekly.

"What sort of a suit do you want?" said Harry.

"I don't know," said Ranald, doubtfully. It had never occurred to him that there could be any great difference in suits. There had never been any choosing of suits with him.