“Well, that’s about the size of it,” admitted Hardy. “I never told you much about my father, did I?”
“Never knew you had one,” said Creede, “until Bill Johnson began to blow about what an Injun-fighter he was. I reckon that’s where you git your sportin’ blood, ain’t it?”
“Well, I’ll tell you,” began Hardy. “The Old Man and I never did get along together. He’s used to commanding soldiers and all that, and I’m kind of quiet, but he always took a sneaking pride in me when I was a boy, I guess. Anyway, every time I’d get into a fight around the post and lick two or three Mexican kids, or do some good work riding or shooting, he’d say I’d be a man before my mother, or something like that––but that was as far as he got. And all the time, on the quiet, he was educating me for the Army. His father was a captain, and he’s a colonel, and I can see now he was lotting on my doing as well or better––but hell, that only made matters worse.”
He slid down in his chair and gazed into the fire gloomily. It was the first time Creede had heard his partner use even the mildest of the range expletives, for in that particular he was still a tenderfoot, and the 140 word suddenly conveyed to him the depths of the little man’s abandonment and despair.
“Why––what was the matter?” he inquired sympathetically. “Couldn’t you git no appointment?”
“Huh!” growled Hardy. “I guess you know, all right. Look at me!” he exclaimed, in a sudden gust of passion and resentment. “Why, damn it, man, I’m an inch too short!”
“Well––I’ll––be––dogged!” breathed Creede. “I never thought of that!”
“No,” rejoined Hardy bitterly, “nor the Old Man, either––not until I stopped growing! Well, he hasn’t had a bit of use for me since. That’s the size of it. And he didn’t take any pains to conceal the fact––most army men don’t. There’s only one man in the world to them, and that’s a soldier; and if you’re not a soldier, you’re nothing.”
He waved a hand as if dismissing himself from the universe, and sank moodily into his seat, while Creede looked him over in silence.
“Rufe,” he said quietly, “d’ye remember that time when I picked you to be boss sheep-wrangler, down at Bender? Well, I might as well tell you about that now––’t won’t do no harm. The old judge couldn’t figure out what it was I see in you to recommend you for the job. Like’s not you don’t know yourself. He thought I was pickin’ you 141 because you was a peaceful guy, and wouldn’t fight Black Tex; but that’s where he got fooled, and fooled bad! I picked you because I knew dam’ well you would fight!”