O Henry

Sixes and Sevens O Henry

Inexorably Sam Galloway saddled his pony. He was going away from the Rancho Altitoat the end of a three-months' visit. It is not to be expected that a guest should put up withwheat coffee and biscuits yellow-streaked with saleratus for longer than that. NickNapoleon, the big Negro man cook, had never been able to make good biscuits. Once before, when Nick was cooking at the Willow Ranch, Sam had been forced to fly from his cuisine, after only a six-weeks' sojourn. On Sam's face was an expression of sorrow, deepened with regret and slightlytempered by the patient forgiveness of a connoisseur who cannot be understood. But veryfirmly and inexorably he buckled his saddle-cinches, looped his stake-rope and hung it tohis saddle-horn, tied his slicker and coat on the cantle, and looped his quirt on his rightwrist. The Merrydews (householders of the Rancho Altito), men, women, children, andservants, vassals, visitors, employés, dogs, and casual callers were grouped in the "gallery"of the ranch house, all with faces set to the tune of melancholy and grief. For, as the comingof Sam Galloway to any ranch, camp, or cabin between the rivers Frio or Bravo del Nortearoused joy, so his departure caused mourning and distress. And then, during absolute silence, except for the bumping of a hind elbow of a hounddog as he pursued a wicked flea, Sam tenderly and carefully tied his guitar across his saddleon top of his slicker and coat. The guitar was in a green duck bag; and if you catch thesignificance of it, it explains Sam. Sam Galloway was the Last of the Troubadours. Of course you know about thetroubadours. The encyclopædia says they flourished between the eleventh and thethirteenth centuries. What they flourished doesn't seem clear-you may be pretty sure itwasn't a sword: maybe it was a fiddlebow, or a forkful of spaghetti, or a lady's scarf. Anyhow, Sam Galloway was one of 'em. Sam put on a martyred expression as he mounted his pony. But the expression on hisface was hilarious compared with the one on his pony's. You see, a pony gets to know hisrider mighty well, and it is not unlikely that cow ponies in pastures and at hitching rackshad often guyed Sam's pony for being ridden by a guitar player instead of by a rollicking, cussing, all-wool cowboy. No man is a hero to his saddle-horse. And even an escalator in adepartment store might be excused for tripping up a troubadour.