that girl has; and I don't aim to ever let it
be mixed up with none of the low down common yeller kind."

The deliberate purpose of the speaker was too evident to be
mistaken. The other man's hand flew to his hip almost before Mr.
Lane had finished his sentence. But Wash was not quick enough.
Like a flash Jim's hand was withdrawn from inside the hickory
shirt, and the giant looked squarely into the muzzle of Jim Lane's
ever ready, murderous weapon.

In the same even voice, without the slightest allusion to the
unfinished movement of the other, Mr. Lane continued, "I done told
you before that my girl would pick her own company, and I ain't
never feared for a minute that she'd take up with such as you.
Ollie Stewart ain't so mighty much of a man, maybe, but he's
clean, he is, and the stock's pretty good. Now you can just listen
to me, or you can mosey out of that door, and the next time we
meet, we will settle it for good, without any further
arrangement."

As Sammy's father talked, the big figure of his visitor relaxed,
and when Jim had finished his slow speech, Wash was leaning
forward with his elbows on his knees, his hands clasped in front.
"We ain't got no call t' fight, now, Jim," he said in a tone of
respect. "We got something else t' think about; an' that's what I
come here fer t'night. I didn't aim t', 'til I seed what I did at
th' ranch down yonder. I tell you hit's time we was a doin'
somethin'."

At this, Mr. Lane's face and manner changed quickly. He put up his
weapon, and the two men drew their chairs close together, as
though Death had not a moment before stretched forth his hand to
them.

For an hour they sat talking in low tones. Sammy in the next room
had heard the conversation up to this point, but now only an
occasional word reached her ears. Gibbs seemed to be urging some
action, and her father was as vigorously protesting. "I tell you,
Jim, hit's th' only safe way. You didn't use t' be so squeamish."
Several times the old shepherd was mentioned, and also the
stranger whom Wash had seen that evening. And once, the trembling
girl heard Young Matt's name. At length the guest rose to go, and
Mr. Lane walked with him to the gate. Even after the big man was
mounted, the conversation still continued; Wash still urging and
Jim still protesting.

When his visitor was gone, Mr. Lane came slowly back to the house.
Extinguishing the light, he seated himself in the open doorway,
and filled his pipe. S