who shall not see your daughter. He hates me
and may order me out of the house." As they listened, the master's
deep grumbling vibrated through the ceiling. "You see! my card has
gone to him, not to your wife. The old ruffian is probably giving
instructions to have me shown the door."

To this Lambert made no reply other than to say: "We'll soon know, the
nigger is returning."

Some shade of the master's mood was reflected in the voice of the
servant, as he said: "The ladies are out and Mr. Pratt is engaged." He
had the air of waiting for them to go.

"Out, are they?" remarked Lambert, casually. "Then we'll wait till
they come in. When did you say they'll return?"

"I didn't say, sir; probably not till very late."

"Is Clarke in?"

"I don't know, sir. I think not."

"But your boss is in?"

The man hesitated. "Yes, sir; but I told you he's engaged."

Lambert changed his tone. "Now, see here, Charley, you go right back
and tell him that Joe Lambert, of Fremont Basin, is here on business,
and would like to have a word with him if he don't mind."

The colored man saw a light, and visibly weakened. "I--I'll tell him,"
he stammered, and retired.

Lambert followed him to the door and called after him, in a clear
tone: "You tell him to come down or I'll go up. Now mind you say just
those words."

Morton smiled with joy in Lambert's decisive utterance. "So much for
having authority, as well as the will to act!"

Pratt appeared at the head of the stairs. "What is it now, Jenkins?"

"The gentleman insists on seeing you, sir; it's Mr. Lambert."

"Stay where you are," commanded Pratt, "I'll come down and see what's
wanted."

Lambert, with quiet, upturned face, watched the master of the house
descend slowly step by step, and Morton, contrasting the two men,
awaited the collision with rising apprehension. The Western man seemed
so small, so inoffensive in manner, in contrast with the grizzled,
insolent face of the sullen old man approaching with heavy jaw set at
a bull-dog angle. "Well, sir, what is it?" he contemptuously inquired.

Lambert waited so long that his questioner began to wonder, and then
remarked, quietly: "So you're Pratt!"

"I am."

"Well, I'm Joe Lambert, of Fremont, and I've come to relieve you of
the keep of my wife and daughter." Nothing could have been more
telling, more admirable, than his tone. Every word told, and as Pratt
stood in a daze of surprise Lambert turned to the servant. "Now,