“I was heading for Sonora,” the man whined.
What Bucky thought was: “Right strange direction to be taking for Sonora. I’ll bet my pile you were going up into the hills to meet some of Wolf Leroy’s gang. But why you were taking the kid along beats me, unless it was just cussedness.” What he said was:
“Oh, you’ll like Epitaph a heap better. I allow you ought to stay at that old town. It’s a real interesting place. Finished in the adobe style and that sort of thing. The jail’s real comfy, too.”
“Would you like something to eat, sir?” presently asked Frank timidly.
“Would I? Why, I’m hungry enough to eat a leather mail-sack. Trot on your grub, young man, and watch my smoke.”
Bucky did ample justice to the sandwiches and lemonade the lad set in front of him, but he ate with a wary eye on a possible insurrection on the part of his prisoner.
“I’m a new man,” he announced briskly, when he had finished. “That veal loaf sandwich went sure to the right spot. If you had been a young lady instead of a boy you couldn’t fix things up more appetizing.”
The lad’s face flushed with embarrassment, apparently at the ranger’s compliment, and the latter, noticed how delicate the small face was. It made an instinctive, wistful appeal for protection, and Bucky felt an odd little stirring at his tender Irish heart.
“Might think I was the kid’s father to see what an interest I take in him,” the young man told himself reprovingly. “It’s all tommyrot, too. A boy had ought to have more grit. I expect he needed that licking all right I saved him from.”
When Bucky had eaten, the camp things were repacked for travel. Epitaph was only twenty-three miles away, and the ranger preferred to ride in the cool of the night rather than sit up till daybreak with his prisoner. Besides, he could then catch the morning train from that town and save almost a day.