“Why–it’s nice! I thought it would be dreadful; and where is Ephraim? Can I go in? How shall I find him among so many?”
“Don’t you understand? This way, I said, Lady Jess. The sharpshooter wants to see his captain.”
She turned swiftly at that, and the smile he had hoped to rouse was on her face as she caught the reporter’s hand.
“Why–how did you know that? Who told you I was Lady Jess, or captain?”
“Who but ‘Forty-niner’ himself? Here he is,” and he gently forced her through an open doorway into a little room, which seemed a miniature of the great ward beyond. There was the same white spotlessness, another kind-faced nurse, and another prostrate patient.
“Ephraim! Ephraim! You poor, dear, precious darling!”
She was beside him, her arms about his neck, her tears and kisses raining on his wrinkled face–a face that a moment before had been full of sadness and impatience, but was now brimming with delight.
“Little Lady! Little captain! I’m a pretty sort of a guardeen, I am! But, thank God, I’m not the only man in the world, and you’ve found them that can help you more than I could, with all my smartness. Did you hear about that turn-tail, Stiffleg? Wasn’t that enough to make a man disgusted with horseflesh forever after? Ugh! I wish I had him, I’d larrup him crossing before the ‘accident’ alley beside the main well! And to think you, Cassius Trent’s daughter, spent your first night in town at a station-house! Child, I’ll never dare to go home and face the ‘boys’ again, after that. Never.”
“Don’t talk too much, sir,” cautioned the nurse, offering her patient a spoonful of some nourishment.
“No, Ephraim, I’ll talk. Oh! what wouldn’t Aunt Sally give to be here now! To think she’s lost such a chance for dosing you!”