A Protegee of Jack Hamlin's, and Other StoriesHarte, Bret
General
A Protegee of Jack Hamlin's, and Other Stories
Harte, Bret
American fiction -- 19th century; Short stories; Western stories
The figure which Bill saw thus engaged, without being otherwise
distinguished, certainly seemed to justify the Judge's opinion. She
appeared to be a well-matured country girl, whose frank gray eyes and
large laughing mouth expressed a wholesome and abiding gratification in
her life and surroundings. She was watching the replacing of luggage in
the boot. A little feminine start, as one of her own parcels was thrown
somewhat roughly on the roof, gave Bill his opportunity. “Now there,” he
growled to the helper, “ye ain't carting stone! Look out, will yer! Some
of your things, miss?” he added, with gruff courtesy, turning to her.
“These yer trunks, for instance?”
She smiled a pleasant assent, and Bill, pushing aside the helper, seized
a large square trunk in his arms. But from excess of zeal, or some other
mischance, his foot slipped, and he came down heavily, striking
the corner of the trunk on the ground and loosening its hinges and
fastenings. It was a cheap, common-looking affair, but the accident
discovered in its yawning lid a quantity of white, lace-edged feminine
apparel of an apparently superior quality. The young lady uttered
another cry and came quickly forward, but Bill was profuse in his
apologies, himself girded the broken box with a strap, and declared his
intention of having the company “make it good” to her with a new one.
Then he casually accompanied her to the door of the waiting-room,
entered, made a place for her before the fire by simply lifting the
nearest and most youthful passenger by the coat collar from the stool
that he was occupying, and, having installed the lady in it, displaced
another man who was standing before the chimney, and, drawing himself
up to his full six feet of height in front of her, glanced down upon his
fair passenger as he took his waybill from his pocket.
“Your name is down here as Miss Mullins?” he said.
She looked up, became suddenly aware that she and her questioner were
the centre of interest to the whole circle of passengers, and, with a
slight rise of color, returned, “Yes.”
“Well, Miss Mullins, I've got a question or two to ask ye. I ask it
straight out afore this crowd. It's in my rights to take ye aside and
ask it---but that ain't my style; I'm no detective. I needn't ask it at
all, but act as ef I knowed the answer, or I might leave it to be asked
by others. Ye needn't answer it ef ye don't like; ye've got a friend
over ther--Judge Thompson--who is a friend to ye, right or wrong, jest
as any other man here is--as though ye'd packed your own jury. Well, the
simple question I've got to ask ye is THIS: Did you signal to anybody
from the coach when we passed Galloper's an hour ago?”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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