“I say, Colonel, ain’t this him?” cried Blimby, hopefully.
The answer proved to be a bitter disappointment to the cowboy.
“No, Blimby!” responded Colonel Sylvester. “Though he is just about the same size and figure. But ’pon my word I must hear all about this at once! Tie your horses, boys, and come right up! This is most astonishing. Never was more surprised in my life!”
Tom was enjoying the situation immensely, though he couldn’t help feeling sorry for the disconcerted Blimby, who presently sank dejectedly into a chair on the veranda.
Facing the colonel, Tom Clifton, in his easy, offhand style, began to answer his questions. He spoke rapidly, for he realized that by this time Bob Somers and the others must be considerably worried about him, and he wanted to be on his way as soon as possible.
His words: “I met Jimmy Raymond in Mexico,” brought Colonel Brookes Sylvester to his feet. The ranchman appeared to be as excited as a man of his stern, forceful nature could ever be. With one hand resting on the arm of his chair and the other on Tom Clifton’s shoulder, he urged him to tell all he knew about the young pianist.
Tom did so at a commendable rate of speed. The colonel listened with the most eager attention; the light had come into his eyes once more, though there was a troubled note in his voice when he said:
“Jimmy in that land of anarchy and disorder! I don’t like to think about it!” Then sinking back in his chair, he remained silent for a moment, unheeding Tom’s question, put with the lad’s characteristic bluntness: “Who is Jimmy Raymond, Colonel Sylvester?”
“The colonel’s nephew!” said Blimby, answering for him.
A sudden recollection of hearing some of the Texas Rangers speak about a lad, who was occasioning Colonel Sylvester considerable trouble and worry, sprang into Tom Clifton’s mind. Jimmy must be that lad, he decided.