As soon as Captain Ellison heard of what had happened at Tascosa, he went over on the stage from Mobeetie to look at the situation himself. He dropped in at once to see his old friends the Wadleys. Ramona opened the door to him.
"Uncle Jim!" she cried, and promptly disappeared in his arms for a hug and a kiss.
The Ranger Captain held her off and examined the lovely flushed face.
"Dog it, you get prettier every day you live. I wisht I was thirty years younger. I'd make some of these lads get a move on 'em."
"I wish you were," she laughed. "They need some competition to make them look at me. None of them would have a chance then--even if they wanted it."
"I believe that. I got to believe it to keep my self-respect. It's all the consolation we old-timers have got. How's Clint?"
"Better. You should hear him swear under his breath because the doctor won't let him smoke more than two pipes a day, and because we won't let him eat whatever he wants to. He's worse than a sore bear," said Ramona proudly.
"Lead me to him."
A moment later the Ranger and the cattleman were shaking hands. They had been partners in their youth, had fought side by side in the Civil War, and had shot plains Indians together at Adobe Walls a few years since. They were so close to each other that they could quarrel whenever they chose, which they frequently did.
"How, old-timer!" exclaimed the Ranger Captain.
"Starved to death. They feed me nothin' but slops--soup an' gruel an' custard an' milk-toast. Fine for a full-grown man, ain't it? Jim, you go out an' get me a big steak an' cook it in boilin' grease on a camp-fire, an' I'll give you a deed to the A T O."
"To-morrow, Clint. The Doc says--"
"Mañana! That's what they all say. Is this Mexico or God's country? What I want, I want now."
"You always did--an' you 'most always got it too," said Ellison, his eyes twinkling reminiscently.
'Mona shook a warning finger at her father. "Well, he won't get it now. He'll behave, too, or he'll not get his pipe to-night."
The sick man grinned. "See how she bullies a poor old man, Jim. I'm worse than that Lear fellow in the play--most henpecked father you ever did see."
"Will she let you talk?"
"He may talk to you, Uncle Jim."
"What did I tell you?" demanded the big cattleman from the bed with the mock bitterness that was a part of the fun they both enjoyed. "You see, I got to get her permission. I'm a slave."