the other from his pocket, took off his soft felt
hat, showed a bullet-hole in its rim, and returned lazily, "It's about
half an hour late, but them Harrisons reckoned I was fixed for 'em and
war too narvous to draw a clear bead on me."

The moment was evidently not a felicitous one for the master's purpose,
but he was determined to go on. He hesitated an instant, when his
companion, who seemed to be equally but more sluggishly embarrassed, in
a moment of preoccupied perplexity withdrew from his pocket his right
hand swathed in a blood-stained bandage, and following some instinctive
habit, attempted, as if reflectively, to scratch his head with two
stiffened fingers.

"You are hurt," said the master, genuinely shocked, "and here I am
detaining you."

"I had my hand up--so," explained McKinstry, with heavy deliberation,
"and the ball raked off my little finger after it went through my hat.
But that ain't what I wanted to say when I stopped ye. I ain't just kam
enough yet," he apologized in the calmest manner, "and I clean forgit
myself," he added with perfect self-possession. "But I was kalkilatin'
to ask you"--he laid his bandaged hand familiarly on the master's
shoulder--"if Cressy kem all right?"

"Perfectly," said the master. "But shan't I walk on home with you, and
we can talk together after your wound is attended to?"

"And she looked purty?" continued McKinstry without moving.

"Very."

"And you thought them new store gownds of hers right peart?"

"Yes," said the master. "Perhaps a little too fine for the school, you
know," he added insinuatingly, "and"--

"Not for her--not for her," interrupted McKinstry. "I reckon thar's more
whar that cam from! Ye needn't fear but that she kin keep up that gait
ez long ez Hiram McKinstry hez the runnin' of her."

Mr. Ford gazed hopelessly at the hideous ranch in the distance, at the
sky, and the trail before him; then his glance fell upon the hand still
upon his shoulder, and he struggled with a final effort. "At another
time I'd like to have a long talk with you about your daughter, Mr.
McKinstry."

"Talk on," said McKinstry, putting his wounded hand through the master's
arm. "I admire to hear you. You're that kam, it does me good."

Nevertheless the master was conscious that his own arm was scarcely as
firm as his companion's. It was however useless to draw back now,
and with as much tact as he could command he relieved his mind of its
purpose. Addressing the o