Inexorably Sam Galloway saddled his pony.He was going away from the Rancho Altito at the end of a three-months' visit.It is not to be expected that a guest should put up with wheat coffee and biscuits yellow-streaked with saleratus for longer than that.Nick Napoleon, the big Negro man cook, had never been able to make good biscuits: Once before, when Nick was cooking at the Willow Ranch, Sam had been forced to fly from his _cuisine_, after only a six-weeks' sojourn.
On Sam's face was an expression of sorrow, deepened with regret and slightly tempered by the patient forgiveness of a connoisseur who cannot be understood.But very firmly and inexorably he buckled his saddle-cinches, looped his stake-rope and hung it to his saddle-horn, tied his slicker and coat on the cantle, and looped his quirt on his right wrist.The Merrydews (householders of the Rancho Altito), men, women, children, and servants, vassals, visitors, employes, dogs, and casual callers were grouped in the "gallery" of the ranch house, all with faces set to the tune of melancholy and grief.For, as the coming of Sam Galloway to any ranch, camp, or cabin between the rivers Frio or Bravo del Norte aroused joy, so his departure caused mourning and distress.
And then, during absolute silence, except for the bumping of a hind elbow of a hound dog as he pursued a wicked flea, Sam tenderly and carefully tied his guitar across his saddle on top of his slicker and coat.The guitar was in a green duck bag; and if you catch the significance of it, it explains Sam.
Sam Galloway was the Last of the Troubadours.Of course you know about the troubadours.The encyclopaedia says they flourished between the eleventh and the thirteenth centuries.What they flourished doesn't seem clear - -- you may be pretty sure it wasn't a sword: maybe it was a fiddlebow, or a forkful of spaghetti, or a lady's scarf.Anyhow, Sam Galloway was one of 'em.
Sam put on a martyred expression as he mounted his pony.But the expression on his face was hilarious compared with the one on his pony's.