Baldy did not wait to make a reply. He steered his plunging pony skillfully among the sleeping Rangers till he reached a bundled–up heap of blankets which he knew must contain Captain Atkinson. Baldy threw himself from his horse in an instant, at the same time slipping the reins over his pony’s head, according to the plainsman’s custom.
Reaching down, he shook the captain vigorously.
“Hello! hello, there, what’s up?” came a muffled rejoinder from amidst the blankets.
But the next instant Captain Atkinson, broad awake, was sitting up.
“Oh, you, Baldy? Well, what’s the trouble?”
“Dunno jes’ erzackly, boss,” stammered out Baldy, “but it’s about that Tenderfoot kid that you gave me ter mind.”
Baldy was plainly embarrassed. He shoved back his sombrero and scratched his head vigorously. At the same time he jingled his spurs as he shifted his feet nervously.
Captain Atkinson’s tone was sharp when he next spoke.
“You mean Jack Merrill? I’d have you understand, Baldy, that he is no Tenderfoot. He’s only a boy, but he’s been through as much as most men of twice his years. But what about him?”