The hands of the two men gripped.
"I'll sure do my share, general."
"We're to have a little luncheon before you go. Captain Girard and your friends are to be my guests. You will join us; not so?"
"Gracias, general. Count me in."
The black eyes of the Mexican twinkled. "Your wound—does it greatly trouble you, señor?"
"Some. When I walk."
"Too bad. I was going to ask you to step upstairs and tell Señorita Seymour that General Culvera will be delighted to have her join us at luncheon. But, of course, since your leg troubles you—"
"It's a heap better already, general. You're giving me good medicine."
"Ah! I think you know the lady's room. But perhaps I had better call a peon."
The eyes of the cowpuncher were bright. "Now, don't you, general. Keep on talking and you're liable to spoil what you've said," answered Steve with his old gay laugh.