“Yes,” said Ellis meditatively. “I know ’em. They’re both nice, kind-’earted fellers, as yu’ say.”
He looked at his watch and jumped to his feet. “Well, I reckon I’ll be pullin’ back,” he said. “I’ll go on over to th’ Reserve sometime soon, and see old Roll-in-th’-Mud, an’ have a palaver with him through an interpreter.”
The old man arose shakily and, with a string of Dutch and Zulu maledictions on his supposed enemies, put a trembling, withered hand on the policeman’s sleeve.
“Yer won’t let any o’ th’ schelms put anyfink over on me, will yer, son?” he said wistfully.
Benton turned and looked at him kindly, and a wave of compassionate pity for the helpless old reprobate who besought his protection, not unmixed with anger at the men who aimed to despoil him, stirred his deep, sympathetic nature strangely.
“Now, don’t yu’ worrit none. I’ll look after yu’, Dad,” he said gently. “Only yu’ wanta take a tumble an’ turn that stock o’ yores out tomorrow ... they’re starvin’. An’ don’t yu’ go a-gettin’ full an’ monkey’n’ around with that gun no more, else I won’t,” he added warningly. “I’m a-goin’ to keep them shells for a time, to insure yore good behavior.”
Tucker, overwhelming him with abject promises of immediate and lasting reform, tottered out into the open after him.
“W’en I see that theer buckskin ’orse o’ Barney Gallagher’s thru’ th’ winder, I made shore as it wuz Short an’ Dirty comin’ arahnd ag’in,” he piped. “W’y, ’e used ter ride ’im.”
“Ja,” answered Ellis enigmatically, as he swung into the saddle. “Used. Well, so long, Dad. Mind what I told yu’, now. I’ll be around to see yu’ again soon.”