"
"Sure, Herky." I jumped off at once, led the horse over, and held out the
bridle. Herky dismounted, and began fumbling with the stirrup straps.
"Your legs are longer'n mine," he explained.
"Oh yes, Herky, I almost forgot to return your hat," I said, removing the
wide sombrero. It had a wonderful band made of horsehair and a buckle of
silver with a strange device.
"Wal, you keep the hat," he replied, with his back turned. "Greaser stole
your hoss an' your outfit's lost, an' you might want somethin' to remember
your--your friends in Arizony. . . . Thet hat ain't much, but, say, the
buckle was an Injun's I shot, an' I made the band when I was in jail in
Yuma."
"Thank you, Herky. I'll keep it, though I'd never need anything to make me
remember Arizona--or you."
Herky swung his bow-legs over Target and I got astride the lean-backed
pony. There did not seem to be any more to say, yet we both lingered.
"Good-bye, Herky, I'm glad I met you," I said, offering my hand.
He gave it a squeeze that nearly crushed my fingers. His keen little eyes
gleamed, but he turned away without another word, and, slapping Target on
the flank, rode off under the trees.
I put the hat back on my head and watched Herky for a moment. His silence
and abrupt manner were unlike him, but what struck me most was the fact
that in our last talk every word had been clean and sincere.
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