A man sixty-five years old, living on a sheep ranch and beset by
a complication of disasters, cannot successfully and continuously
dissemble. Moreover, a troubadour has eyes quick to see unhappiness in
others around him--because it disturbs his own ease. So, on the next
day, Sam again questioned the old man about his air of sadness and
abstraction. Then old man Ellison told him the story of King James's
threats and orders and that pale melancholy and red ruin appeared
to have marked him for their own. The troubadour took the news
thoughtfully. He had heard much about King James.

On the third day of the seven days of grace allowed him by the
autocrat of the range, old man Ellison drove his buckboard to Frio
City to fetch some necessary supplies for the ranch. Bradshaw was hard
but not implacable. He divided the old man's order by two, and let him
have a little more time. One article secured was a new, fine ham for
the pleasure of the troubadour.

Five miles out of Frio City on his way home the old man met King James
riding into town. His majesty could never look anything but fierce and
menacing, but to-day his slits of eyes appeared to be a little wider
than they usually were.

"Good day," said the king, gruffly. "I've been wanting to see you.
I hear it said by a cowman from Sandy yesterday that you was from
Jackson County, Mississippi, originally. I want to know if that's a
fact."

"Born there," said old man Ellison, "and raised there till I was
twenty-one."