“Hello, here! Where’s ‘Forty-niner?’ Didn’t he come with you from the station?”
The ranchmen stared at him and at each other; then said John Benton, gravely:
“I remember now, he didn’t. Plaguyest proud old chap ever handled a shotgun. Wouldn’t be beholden to anybody for even one dinner. Well! He’s had experience of Los Angeles an’ ought to know his bearings. Might ha’ stepped round to that hospital he’s forever talking about, or to that old crony tavern-keeper’s o’ his’n. But he’ll turn up before train starts for Marion and home. Couldn’t keep him off Sobrante ranch though you set the dogs on him. Thinks none of us, that’s a mite younger’n him, has got sense enough to run things without his everlasting poke-nose thrust in. Lady Jess, she was pleased to tell him she’d made him ‘Superintendent’ of the whole shooting-match an’ that was one time our ‘Captain’ made a little mistake. But he’s sort of touchy like and if he gets too top-lofty we can easy set him down a peg. I’d like some butter, waiter; and I’d like enough to see, this time.”
So saying, the carpenter cast a casual glance around, as if to convey to all spectators the fact that he was perfectly familiar with hotel tables and the manner of dining thereat. The glance included the young mine manager, but this time that gentleman’s sense of humor was not touched. A vague uneasiness stirred within him, and it was his ardent hope that when the home-returning party took the train for Marion the old sharpshooter would rejoin them.
“Mrs. Trent will be grieved if he forsakes Sobrante now that Jessica is gone. The old man is ‘touchy,’ as the boys say; and he has never quite forgiven his old mates for that temporary doubt of his honesty. The ‘house’ will be lonely, indeed, if neither he nor the little ‘Captain’ goes in and out of it. Yes, I hope he’ll be on hand; and till that time I’ll not mention him to the lady of the ranch.”
However, when—dinner past and business transacted—the Sobrante household gathered at the station, en route for home, old Ephraim Marsh was still absent from his rightful place; and to Mrs. Trent’s anxious exclamation:
“Why ‘Forty-niner’ hasn’t come yet! We can’t possibly go and leave him behind! Does anybody know where he is?” there was no reply save the warning whistle of the locomotive and the conductor’s hoarse command: “All aboard!”
Till Aunt Sally fancied a solution, crying:
“My suz! I believe he’s gone an’ broke another leg!”