“‘That’s all I ask, Sam,’ was his only reply.  Now I’ve learned lots of the ways of the world since then.  I’ve seen people pleasant to each other, and behind their backs the tune changed.  But I want to say to you fellows that those two old boys were not throwing off on each other—­not a little bit.  They meant every word and meant it deep.  It was months afterwards, and father had been gone for a week when he came home.  He told us about his visit to Joe Evans.  It was winter time, and mother and us boys were sitting around the old fireplace in the evening.  ‘I never saw him so embarrassed before in my life,’ said father.  ’I did ride out of my way, but I was glad of the chance.  Men like Joe Evans are getting scarce.’  He nodded to us boys.  ’It was nearly dark when I rode up to his gate.  He recognized me and came down to the gate to meet me.  “Howdy, Sam,” was all he said.  There was a troubled expression in his face, though he looked well enough, but he couldn’t simply look me in the face.  Just kept his eye on the ground.  He motioned for a nigger boy and said to him, “Take his horse.”  He started to lead the way up the path, when I stopped him.  “Look here, Joe,” I said to him.  “Now, if there’s anything wrong, anything likely to happen in the family, I can just as well drop back on the pike and stay all night with some of the neighbors.  You know I’m acquainted all around here.”  He turned in the path, and there was the most painful look in his face I ever saw as he spoke:  “Hell, no, Sam, there’s nothing wrong.  We’ve got plenty to eat, plenty of beds, no end of horse-feed, but by G——­, Sam, there isn’t a drop of whiskey on the place!"’

“You see it was hoss and cabello, and Joe seemed to think the hoss on him was an unpardonable offense.  Salt?  You’ll find it in an empty one-spoon baking-powder can over there.  In those panniers that belong to that big sorrel mule.  Look at Mexico over there burying his fangs in the venison, will you?”

Ramrod was on guard, but he was so hungry himself that he was good enough to let the prisoners eat at the same time, although he kept them at a respectable distance.  He was old in the service, and had gotten his name under a baptism of fire.  He was watching a pass once for smugglers at a point called Emigrant Gap.  This was long before he had come to the present company.  At length the man he was waiting for came along.  Ramrod went after him at close quarters, but the fellow was game and drew his gun.  When the smoke cleared away, Ramrod had brought down his horse and winged his man right and left.  The smuggler was not far behind on the shoot, for Ramrod’s coat and hat showed he was calling for him.  The captain was joshing the prisoner about his poor shooting when Ramrod brought him into camp and they were dressing his wounds.  “Well,” said the fellow, “I tried to hard enough, but I couldn’t find him.  He’s built like a ramrod.”