Cowboys -- Fiction; Montana -- Fiction; Ranch life -- Fiction; Western stories
His mind fidgeted with the subject. If he could have saddled Silver and
gone for a long gallop over the prairie land, he could have grappled
with his rebellious inner self and choked to death several unwelcome
emotions, he thought. But there was Silver, crippled and swung
uncomfortably in canvas wrappings in the box stall, and here
was himself, crippled and held day after day in one room and one
chair--albeit a very pleasant room and a very comfortable chair--and a
gallop as impossible to one of them as to the other.
“I do wish--” The Little Doctor checked herself abruptly, and hummed a
bit of coon song.
“What do you wish?” Chip pushed his thoughts behind him, and tried to
speak in his usual manner.
“Nothing much. I was just wishing Cecil could see 'The Last Stand.'”
Chip said absolutely nothing for five minutes, and for an excellent
reason. There was not a single thought during that time which would
sound pretty if put into words, and he had no wish to shock the Little
Doctor.
After that day a constraint fell upon them both, which each felt
keenly and neither cared to explain away. “The Last Stand” was tacitly
dismissed from their conversation, of which there grew less and less as
the days passed.
Then came a time when Chip strongly resented being looked upon as an
invalid, and Johnny was sent home, greatly to his sorrow.
Chip hobbled about the house on crutches, and chafed and fretted, and
managed to be very miserable indeed because he could not get out and
ride and clear his brain and heart of some of their hurt--for it had
come to just that; he had been compelled to own that there was a hurt
which would not heal in a hurry.
It was a very bitter young man who, lounging in the big chair by the
window one day, suddenly snorted contempt at a Western story he had been
reading and cast the magazine--one of the Six Leading--clean into the
parlor where it sprawled its artistic leaves in the middle of the floor.
The Little Doctor was somewhere--he never seemed to know just where,
nowadays--and the house was lonesome as an isolated peak in the Bad
Lands.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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