Sixes and Sevens

Inexorably Sam Galloway saddled his pony. He was going away from the Rancho Altito at theend of a three-months' visit. It is not to be expected that a guest should put up with wheat coffeeand biscuits yellow-streaked with saleratus for longer than that. Nick Napoleon, the big Negro mancook, had never been able to make good biscuits. Once before, when Nick was cooking at theWillow 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 slightly tempered by thepatient forgiveness of a connoisseur who cannot be understood. But very firmly and inexorably hebuckled his saddle-cinches, looped his stake-rope and hung it to his saddle-horn, tied his slicker andcoat on the cantle, and looped his quirt on his right wrist. The Merrydews (householders of theRancho Altito), men, women, children, and servants, vassals, visitors, employés, dogs, and casualcallers were grouped in the "gallery" of the ranch house, all with faces set to the tune of melancholyand grief. For, as the coming of Sam Galloway to any ranch, camp, or cabin between the rivers Frioor Bravo del Norte aroused joy, so his departure caused mourning and distress.And then, during absolute silence, except for the bumping of a hind elbow of a hound dog as hepursued a wicked flea, Sam tenderly and carefully tied his guitar across his saddle on top of hisslicker and coat. The guitar was in a green duck bag; and if you catch the significance of it, it explainsSam.Sam Galloway was the Last of the Troubadours. Of course you know about the troubadours.The encyclopædia says they flourished between the eleventh and the thirteenth centuries. What theyflourished doesn't seem clear-you may be pretty sure it wasn'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 his face washilarious compared with the one on his pony's. You see, a pony gets to know his rider mighty well, and it is not unlikely that cow ponies in pastures and at hitching racks had often guyed Sam's ponyfor being ridden by a guitar player instead of by a rollicking, cussing, all-wool cowboy. No man is ahero to his saddle-horse. And even an escalator in a department store might be excused for trippingup a troubadour.