“I don’t want to go back there. He’ll come out again and find me after you leave.”
“Where do you want to go, then? If you were a girl I could put you in the convent school here,” he reflected aloud.
Again that swift, deep blush irradiated the youth’s cheeks. “Why can’t I go with you?” he asked shyly.
The ranger laughed. “Mebbe you think I’m going on a picnic. Why, I’m starting out to knock the chip off Old Man Trouble’s shoulder. Like as not some greaser will collect Mr. Bucky’s scalp down in mañana land. No, sir, this doesn’t threaten to be a Y. P. S. C. E. excursion.”
“If it is so dangerous as that, you will need help. I’m awful good at making up, and I can speak Spanish like a native.”
“Sho! You don’t want to go running your neck into a noose. It’s a jail-break I’m planning, son. There may be guns a-popping before we get back to God’s country—if we ever do. Add to that, trouble and then some, for there’s a revolution scheduled for old Chihuahua just now, as your uncle happens to know from reliable information.”
“Two can always work better than one. Try me, Bucky,” pleaded the boy, the last word slipping out with a trailing upward inflection that was irresistible.
“Sure you won’t faint if we get in a tight pinch, Curly?” scoffed O’Connor, even though in his mind he was debating a surrender. For he was extraordinarily taken with the lad, and his judgment justified what the boy had said.
“I shall not be afraid if you are with me.”
“But I may not be with you. That’s the trouble. Supposing I should be caught, what would you do?”