“I’ve left the ranch—discharged, I guess.”
“Hev ye been doin’ mischief?” The tone was incisive.
“No, I haven’t,” Fred looked squarely into the calm eyes that searched him. “Perhaps I’ve made mistakes, but I did the best I could.”
“None of us kin beat that; but why d’ye come to me?”
“Because I have no other friend I can trust with my trouble. I haven’t any money—they wouldn’t pay me—but I thought you might take me in till I can find a way to get back home. I’ll make it right some way.”
“Wall, boy, you’re welcome.” The voice was tender. Fred’s eyes filled.
“There, now, fergit yer troubles. We’ll figure them out in the morning. Get off that wet jacket and dry yerself—but take care of your pony fust.”
“I haven’t any.”
“You come afoot?”