His blood glowed at the sweetness of her generosity.
"I've been--camping."
With the shyness and the boldness of a child she pushed home her friendliness. "Why don't you ever come to see a fellow any more?"
He did not answer that, but plunged at his mission. "Miss Ramona, I've got bad news for you. Your father has been hurt--not very badly, I think. He told me to tell you that the wound was only a slight one."
'Mona went white to the lips. "How?" she whispered.
"The Dinsmores shot him. The men are bringing him here."
He caught her in his arms as she reeled. For a moment her little head lay against his shoulder and her heart beat against his.
"A trifling flesh-wound, your father called it," went on Ridley. "He said you were to get a bed ready for him, and fix bandages."
She steadied herself and beat back the wave of weakness that had swept over her.
"Yes," she said. "I'll tell Aunt. Have they sent for the doctor?"
"Quint Sullivan went."
A wagon creaked. 'Mona flew into the house to tell her aunt, and out again to meet her father. Her little ankles flashed down the road. Agile as a boy, she climbed into the back of the buckboard.
"Oh, Dad!" she cried in a broken little voice, and her arms went round him in a passion of love.
He was hurt worse than he was willing to admit to her.
"It's all right, honeybug. Doc Bridgman will fix me up fine. Yore old dad is a mighty live sinner yet."
Ridley helped Jumbo carry the cattleman into the house. As he came out, the doctor passed him going in.
Ridley slipped away in the gathering darkness and disappeared.