ou; and I'll tell Bradshaw to let
you have everything you want on credit. You are bound to have heard
the old saying at home, that the Jackson County Reeveses and Kings
would stick closer by each other than chestnut burrs. Well, I'm a
King yet whenever I run across a Reeves. So you look out for me along
about sundown to-morrow, and don't worry about nothing. Shouldn't
wonder if the dry spell don't kill out the young grass."

Old man Ellison drove happily ranchward. Once more the smiles filled
out his wrinkles. Very suddenly, by the magic of kinship and the good
that lies somewhere in all hearts, his troubles had been removed.

On reaching the ranch he found that Sam Galloway was not there. His
guitar hung by its buckskin string to a hackberry limb, moaning as the
gulf breeze blew across its masterless strings.

The Kiowa endeavoured to explain.

"Sam, he catch pony," said he, "and say he ride to Frio City. What for
no can damn sabe. Say he come back to-night. Maybe so. That all."

As the first stars came out the troubadour rode back to his haven. He
pastured his pony and went into the house, his spurs jingling
martially.

Old man Ellison sat at the kitchen table, having a tin cup of
before-supper coffee. He looked contented and pleased.

"Hello, Sam," said he. "I'm darned glad to see ye back. I don't know
how I managed to get along on this ranch, anyhow, before ye dropped in
to cheer things up. I'll bet ye've been skylarking around with some of
them Frio City gals, now, that's kept ye so late."

And then old man Ellison took another look at Sam's face and saw that
the minstrel had changed to the man of action.

And while Sam is unbuckling from his waist old man Ellison's
six-shooter, that the latter had left behind when he drove to town, we
may well pause to remark that anywhere and whenever a troubadour lays
down the guitar and takes up the sword trouble is sure to follow. It
is not the expert thrust of Athos nor the cold skill of Aramis nor
the iron wrist of Porthos that we have to fear--it is the Gascon's
fury--the wild and unacademic attack of the troubadour--the sword of
D'Artagnan.

"I done it," said Sam. "I went over to Frio City to do it. I couldn't
let him put the skibunk on you, Uncle Ben. I met him in Summers's
saloon. I knowed what to do. I said a few things to him that nobody
else heard. He reached for his gun first--half a dozen fellows saw him
do it--but I got mine unlimbered first. Three dose