Barbour County index. [volume] (Medicine Lodge, Kan.) 1880-current, 1903-09-16
A KNIGHT OF
THE HIGHWAY
By CLINTON SCOLLARD.
Author OF "A Man at Arms, The Son
Of Tory" Etc.
Copyright, 1907, by J. B. Lippincott Gu.
All rights reserved.
CHAPTER H.-CoNr1NUED.


CHAPTER II.-CoNTINUED.
For an hour or more the new
stableman continued his labors, when
the hostler announced that it was
time for grub" After a good wash
at the barn pump, Rossiter followed
his companion into a small, bare
room which was filed with the odor
of cooking. 1t was plain meal
that the two men sat down to, but
it was exceedingly palatable.
Neither spoke while eating, and the
maid who attended to their wants
evidently considered herself decided
~ above them. for she did not deign
to address them with SO much as d
single word. When they had finished
they went out together.
Say" said the h0stler, as they
halted in the center of the stable
yard, how'd you like my job fer
couple O. weeks? l want to go hop
pickin'.'
Il think some of going myself"
replied Rossiter
"Oh, you do, Ell? Well, if you don't
conclude to go, I'd be glad to have
you come ere. You're a pritty tidy
hand with a boss"
Thanks. What's the job worth?'
Five a week, with feed an lodgin'."
when would you want to know?"
ANY time to-day 'ud do
"All right. I'll drop around to-
night and tell you if I'll come. If
you don't see me again, you'll have
to find another chap" and Rossiter
sought the street.
Here's luck!" he calculated. "May
be things are going to take a turn at
last" He Strengthened himself and
something of the reckless sullenness
left his face.
II must find quiet spot and think
1t out" he unused.
He crossed the railway tracks, and
struck into a narrow street which,
he recalled, formerly led to the base
ball grounds and the broad mead
ows bordering the river. It was a
squalid neighborhood in the old days,
he remembered, and it did not appear
to have changed materially during
the years that had elapsed since he
had last viewed it. Ragged children
were rolling in the dirt by the road
side, slatternly women even at that
hour--nine o'clock had not yet struck
were gossiping from window to
window, and two or three men as
unkempt as Rossiter himself were
squirting tobacco juice over the di-
lapidated board sidewalk. Both wo-
men and men eyed him furtively as
he went by, and one of the former
flung a coarse jibe after him.
He found an open field where the
fenced baseball grounds had been,
and beyond this, as in the past,
stretched level meadow, sweeping
away beyond the river to the base OF
haze-wrapt hills. Quarter of mile
distant he noticed a group of elms
upon the bank of the stream, and
towards these he directed his steps
When he reached them he cast him
self upon the sward in the shade
and set his back against one of the
massive boles. Behind him was the
city, slowly beginning to steam with
heat under the pitiless sun; before
him was the languid river, low from
drought, lazing between its irregular
and freshet-washed banks. Far over.
head in the lofty boughs was the
faint twitter of birdsong.
This was what Rossiter loved
The city meant nothing to him but
miserable failure, but the free all
of the country carried with it a Ger
tain peace of spirit, and for the most
part large forgetfulness. During
the three years of his wandering
the virus of vagabondage had so per
meated his every fiber that he rarely
longed for the existence he had once
known. When he was candid will
himself he admitted that it was al
rrcparable blot upon his manhood
that he did not strive to rise from
NE slough into which his own weak