“What’s that Mr. Tooley said in his letter, Frances?” asked Pratt. “Is he sure the man who was killed on the railroad when he went home from here was a man named Pete Marin, who once was orderly at the soldiers’ home?”
“Yes,” said Frances, gravely. “He was walking the track, they thought. Either he was intoxicated or he did not hear the train. Poor fellow!”
“Blamed rascal!” ejaculated Jonas P. Lonergan.
“He made us some trouble–but it’s over,” said Pratt.
“You showed what sort of stuff you were made of, young man,” said the Captain, thoughtfully, “at that very time. Maybe you’ve got something to thank that Pete for.”
“And Ratty M’Gill?” asked Pratt, smiling.
“Poor Ratty!” said Frances again.
“He’s gone down to the Pecos country,” said the Captain, briskly. “Best place for him. Maybe he will know enough not to get in with such fellows as that Pete again.”
“I should have been much afraid had I known what Pratt was getting into out here,” Mrs. Sanderson ventured.
“Now, now, Sister! Don’t try to make a mollycoddle out o’ the boy,” said Jonas P. Lonergan. “I tell you we’re going to make a man out o’ Pratt here. I’ve bought an interest in the Bar-T for him. He’s going to take some of the work off the Captain’s shoulders when we get him broke in, hey, Dan?”