Captain Ellison was preparing for the Adjutant-General a report of a little affair during which one of his men had been obliged to snuff out the lives of a couple of Mexican horsethieves and seriously damage a third. Writing was laborious work for the Captain of Rangers, though he told no varnished tale. His head and shoulders were hunched over the table and his fingertips were cramped close to the point of the pen. Each letter as it was set down had its whispered echo from his pursed lips.
"Doggone these here reports," he commented in exasperation. "Looks like a man hadn't ought to make out one every time he bumps off a rustler."
He tugged at his goatee and read again what he had just written: Then this José Barela and his gang of skoundrels struck out for the Brazos with the stolen stock. Ranger Cullom trailed them to Goose Creek and recovered the cattle. While resisting arrest Barela and another Mexican were killed and a third wounded. Cullom brought back the wounded man and the rustled stock.
A short noontime shadow darkened the sunny doorway of the adobe office. Ellison looked up quickly, his hand falling naturally to the handle of his forty-five. Among the Rangers the price of life was vigilance. A tall, lean, young man with a sardonic eye and a sunburned face jingled up the steps.
"Come in," snapped the Captain. "Sit down. With you in a minute."
The cowboy lounged in, very much at his ease. Roberts had been embarrassed before Ramona Wadley that morning, but he was not in the least self-conscious now. In the course of a short and turbid life he had looked too many tough characters in the eye to let any mere man disturb his poise.
"Do you spell scoundrel with a k?" the Ranger chief fired abruptly at him.
"Nary a k, Captain. I spell it b-a-d m-a-n."
"H'mp!" snorted the little man. "Ain't you got no education? A man's got to use a syllogism oncet in a while, I reckon."
"Mebbeso. What kind of a gun is it?" drawled Jack Roberts.
"A syllogism is a word meanin' the same as another word, like as if I was to say caballo for horse or six-shooter for revolver."
"I see--or tough guy for Texas ranger."
"Or durn fool for Jack Roberts," countered Ellison promptly.
"Now you're shoutin', Cap. Stomp on me proper. I certainly need to be curried."
Again the Ranger snorted. "H'mp! Been scarin' any more young ladies to death?"
"No more this mo'nin', Captain," answered Jack equably.
"Nor grandstandin' with any more ladino steers?"
"I exhibit only once a day."