"Nothing broken, I hope?" said Balshannon.
"No, seh. The stirrup seems to have twisted this foot."
I sent some men for a ground sheet in which the boy could be carried without pain. Balshannon sent for brandy.
Still kneeling beside his son, the stranger looked up into the patrone's face.
"You are Lord Balshannon?" he asked.
"At your service, my good fellow—well?"
"Do any of yo' greasers speak our language?"
"I fancy not."
"Then I have to tell you, seh, that I am Captain McCalmont, and my outfit is the Robbers' Roost gang of outlaws." He was bending down over his son.
"I asked no question, my friend," said Lord Balshannon, "we never question a guest."