It was with some natural youthful curiosity, but no lack of loyalty to Colonel Starbottle, that the editor that evening sought this “war-horse of the Democracy,” as he was familiarly known, in his invalid chamber at the Palmetto Hotel.  He found the hero with a bandaged ear and—­perhaps it was fancy suggested by the story of the choking—­cheeks more than usually suffused and apoplectic.  Nevertheless, he was seated by the table with a mint julep before him, and welcomed the editor by instantly ordering another.

The editor was glad to find him so much better.

“Gad, sir, no bones broken, but a good deal of ’possum scratching about the head for such a little throw like that.  I must have slid a yard or two on my left ear before I brought up.”

“You were unconscious from the fall, I believe.”

“Only for an instant, sir—­a single instant!  I recovered myself with the assistance of a No’the’n gentleman—­a Mr. Parmlee—­who was passing.”

“Then you think your injuries were entirely due to your fall?”

The colonel paused with the mint julep halfway to his lips, and set it down.  “Sir!” he ejaculated, with astounded indignation.

“You say you were unconscious,” returned the editor lightly, “and some of your friends think the injuries inconsistent with what you believe to be the cause.  They are concerned lest you were unknowingly the victim of some foul play.”

“Unknowingly!  Sir!  Do you take me for a chuckle-headed niggah, that I don’t know when I’m thrown from a buck-jumping mustang? or do they think I’m a Chinaman to be hustled and beaten by a gang of bullies?  Do they know, sir, that the account I have given I am responsible for, sir?—­personally responsible?”

There was no doubt to the editor that the colonel was perfectly serious, and that the indignation arose from no guilty consciousness of a secret.  A man as peppery as the colonel would have been equally alert in defense.

“They feared that you might have been ill used by some evilly disposed person during your unconsciousness,” explained the editor diplomatically; “but as you say that was only for a moment, and that you were aware of everything that happened”—­He paused.

“Perfectly, sir!  Perfectly!  As plain as I see this julep before me.  I had just left the Ramierez rancho.  The senora,—­a devilish pretty woman, sir,—­after a little playful badinage, had offered to lend me her daughter’s mustang if I could ride it home.  You know what it is, Mr. Grey,” he said gallantly.  “I’m an older man than you, sir, but a challenge from a d——­d fascinating creature, I trust, sir, I am not yet old enough to decline.  Gad, sir, I mounted the brute.  I’ve ridden Morgan stock and Blue Grass thoroughbreds bareback, sir, but I’ve never thrown my leg over such a blanked Chinese cracker before.  After he bolted I held my own fairly, but he buck-jumped before I could lock my spurs under him, and the second jump landed me!”