“I wanted to talk with him,” muttered Darrel.
“A heap o’ palverin’ you’d ‘a’ done with him,” grunted Dolliver. “The kunnel ain’t eager for no conversation with you, son.”
Darrel realized that, but it did not alter his determination to see if he could not talk with his uncle and try to make things easier for Merriwell.
The morning passed slowly, Darrel deciding one moment that duty called him to Tinaja Wells and Merriwell, and again that his proper course was to ride to Camp Hawtrey and interview the colonel.
Noon came, and Darrel ate little of the food Dolliver had set out on the kitchen table.
“If ye don’t eat,” grumbled Dolliver, “ye can’t expect to git around very soon.”
Darrel’s mind was on something else besides his dinner.
“I wish you’d saddle up a horse for me, Dolliver,” he said. “I’m going to take a ride.”
“More’n likely ye’ll fall off before ye’ve gone fur. Where ye goin’ to ride?”
“Camp Hawtrey.”