e old man's appearance. Dad's face was one
of the kind that are built to carry a beard; without it his weaknesses
were too apparent to the appraising eye.

Dad made glowing report of his success with the widow at Four Corners.
Preliminaries were smoothed; he had left the widow wearing his ring.

"We'll jump the broomstick in about a month from now," Dad said, full
of satisfaction for his business stroke. "I aim to settle down and
quit my roamin', John."

"And your marrying, too, I hope, you old rascal!"

"Yes, this one will be my last, I reckon. I don't mind, though; I've
had doin's enough with women in my day."

"Is she a good looker, Dad?"

"Well, I've seen purtier ones and I've seen uglier ones, John. No, she
ain't what you might call stylish, I guess, but she's all right for
me. She's a little off in one leg, but not enough to hurt."

"That's a slight blemish in a lady with money in the bank, Dad."

"I look at it that way, on the sensible side. Good looks is all right
in a woman, but that ain't all a man needs to make him easy in his
mind. Well, she did lose the sight of her left eye when she was a
girl, but she can see a dollar with the other one further than I can
see a wagon wheel."

"No gentleman would stop at the small trifle of an eye. What else,
Dad?"

"Nothing else, only she's carryin' a little more meat right now than a
woman likes to pack around in hot weather. I don't mind that; you
know, I like mine fat; you can't get 'em too fat for me."

"I've heard you say so. How much does she weigh?"

"Well, I guess close to three hundred, John. If she was taller, it
wouldn't show so much on her--she can walk under my arm. But it's
surprisin' how that woman can git around after them sheep!"

Dad added this hopefully, as if bound to append some redeeming trait
to all her physical defects.

"How many does she own?"

"About four thousand. Not much of a band, but a lot more than I ever
could lay claim to. She's got a twelve-thousand acre ranch, owns every
foot of it, more than half of it under fence. What do you think of
that? Under fence! Runs them sheep right inside of that bull-wire
fence, John, where no wolf can't git at 'em. There ain't no bears down
in that part of the country. Safe? Safer'n money in the bank, and no
expense of hirin' a man to run 'em."

"It looks like you've landed on a feather bed, Dad."

"Ain't I? What does a man care about a little hobble, or one eye, or
a little chunk of