On the contrary, he was slow to resolve and
proportionately tenacious of the determination once made. But the
stirring of boyish memories accounted for something; and in the sanest
brain there are sleeping cells of irresponsibility ready to spring alive
at the touch of suggestion. What if he should--
He sat down upon the edge of the station platform and thought it out
deliberately. Since it would be hours before the tracks could be cleared
and the rail journey resumed, what was to prevent him from taking an
immediate and delightful plunge into the region of the heart-stirring
recollections? Doubtless old Jason Debbleby was at this moment sitting
on the door-step of his lonely ranch-house in the Pigskin foot-hills,
smoking his corn-cob pipe and, quite possibly, wondering what had become
of the boy whom he had taught to "rope down" and saddle and ride. Blount
estimated the distance as he remembered it. With a hired horse he might
reach Debbleby's by late bedtime; and after a night spent with the old
ranchman he could ride on across the big mesa to the capital.
Another ineffectual attempt to find out how soon the relief train from
the capital might be expected decided Blount. Arranging with the Pullman
conductor to have his hand-luggage left in Gantry's office at the
capital, the man in search of his boyhood crossed quickly to a
livery-stable opposite the station, bargained for a saddle-horse,
borrowed a poncho and a pair of leggings, and prepared to break
violently, for the moment at least, with all the civilized traditions.
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