“The Luck of Roaring Camp” by Bret Harte

 

The assemblage numbered about a hundred men. One or two of these were actual fugitives from justice, some were criminal, and all were reckless. Physically they exhibited no indication of their past lives and character. The greatest scamp had a Raphael face, with a profusion of blonde hair; Oakhurst, a gambler, had the melancholy air and intellectual abstraction of a Hamlet; the coolest and most courageous man was scarcely over five feet in height, with a soft voice and an embarrassed, timid manner. The term "roughs" applied to them was a distinction rather than a definition. Perhaps in the minor details of fingers, toes, ears, etc., the camp may have been deficient, but these slight omissions did not detract from their aggregate force. The strongest man had but three fingers on his right hand; the best shot had but one eye.

Another in the roster of The 100 Best Western Short Stories as selected by Mr. Lewis.

One that is likely familiar to many, one that I myself had read in younger days and returned to for its brevity.

If anything, the older me found far more to enjoy.

Harte’s craft is magnificent. He has a light touch that limns large scenes with ease as the offered extract attests.

There is a jocular jovial feel about the entire proceeding which is quite a feat when one considers this is nothing but a tale of somber events.

Somber turns of fortune made noble by rough men finding redemption in…well, I’ll not spoil it for first time readers or those who have been away for a while.

My review may make it sound like heady stuff, but Harte is better than that. He hides his art like the artist he is.

Easy A.