In the saddle, bedecked in his showy trappings, surrounded by
his friends, Jack Summers had found his youth again, and the past was as
a closed book, for the nonce.
"I'm the boss's envy extraordinary," said Overland, by way of greeting.
"Walt said something else, too, about bein' a potentiary, but I reckon
_that_ was a joke."
"Good-morning! Don't get down! Glad to see you again!"
But Overland was in the road, hat in hand, and Yuma's bridle-reins over
one arm.
"'Mornin', Billy! 'Mornin', Doctor! You run right up to the house. I left
the gate open."
Then Overland rode back, following them. Later he reappeared, minus
spurs and chaps, but still clad in the garb of the range-rider. He was
as proud and happy as a boy. He seemed to have dropped ten years from
his shoulders. And he was strangely unlike his old boisterous self
withal.
The noon sun crept through the moon-vine. Out on the wide veranda was
the long table. They were a happy group at luncheon there. Even the
taciturn Brand Williams had been persuaded to come. His native
picturesqueness was rather effaced by a black, characterless suit of
"store clothes."
Walter Stone, at the conclusion of the luncheon, asked Overland to make
a speech.
Pages:
308
309
310
311
312
313
314
315
316
317
318
319
320
321
322
323
324
325
326
327
328
329
330
331
332