Alice saw that his eyes were serious as he set the bottle upon the rock
beside him. And then, hardly discernible at first, but gradually
assuming distinct form, a whimsical smile curved his lips as he looked
at the bottle.
"Gosh!" he breathed, softly, "ain't you an' I had some nonsensical
times? I ain't a damned bit sorry, neither. But our trails fork here.
Maybe for a while--maybe for ever. But if it is for ever, my average
will be right honourable if I live to be a hundred." Alice noticed how
boyish the clean-cut features looked when he smiled that way. The
other smile--the masking, cynical smile--made him ten years older. The
face was once more grave, and he raised the bottle from the rock. "So
long," he said, and there was just that touch of honest regret in his
voice with which he would have parted from a friend. "So long. I've
got a choice to make--an' I don't choose you."
The hand that held the bottle was empty. There was a moment of silence
and then from far below came the tinkle of smashing glass. The Texan
got up, adjusted the silk scarf at his neck, rolled a cigarette, and
clambering down the sharp descent, made his way toward the grazing
horses. Alice watched for a moment as he walked up to his own horse,
stroked his neck, and lightly cuffed at the ears which the horse laid
back as he playfully snapped at his master's hand.
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