might be the case. But most all the old veterans and settlers got their land certificates issued, and located long ago. Still, we can look that up in the land office, and be sure. Your father’s name, now, was———”
“Amos Colvin, sir.”
“Good Lord!” exclaimed Standifer, rising and unbuttoning his tight coat, excitedly. “Are you Amos Colvin’s daughter? Why, ma’am, Amos Colvin and me were thicker than two hoss thieves for more than ten years! We fought Kiowas, drove cattle, and rangered side by side nearly all over Texas. I remember seeing you once before, now. You were a kid, about seven, a-riding a little yellow pony up and down. Amos and me stopped at your home for a little grub when we were trailing that band of Mexican cattle thieves down through Karnes and Bee. Great tarantulas! and you’re Amos Colvin’s little girl! Did you ever hear your father mention Luke Standifer—just kind of casually—as if he’d met me once or twice?”
A little pale smile flitted across the lady’s white face.
“It seems to me,” she said, “that I don’t remember hearing him talk about much else. Every day there was some story he had to tell about what he and you had done. Mighty near the last thing I heard him tell was about the time when the Indians wounded him, and you crawled out to him through the grass, with a canteen of water, while they———”
“Yes, yes—well—oh, that was n’t anything,” said Standifer, “hemming” loudly and buttoning his coat again, briskly. “And now, ma’am, who was the infernal
