“Git out of ’em?”

“Git out of ’em,” she repeated scornfully.  “D’ye think if I was a man I’d stop in such a God-forsaken place as yours, with nothing but rattlesnakes and coyotes to keep me company?  Go on!”

“I’ve wandered far—­I’ve wandered wide—­
I’ve dwelt in many a stately tower;
And now I turn me back to ride
To my own brown bird in her humble bower.”

“That’ll do,” said Mintie.  “You ain’t improved much.  Bill Shakespeare can rest easy in his tomb.  I’ve got my chores to do.  ’Bout time you was doin’ yours.”

Smoky Jack, refusing to budge, said jocosely, “Things air fixed up to home.  ’Twouldn’t worry me any if I never got back till to-morrer.”

Mintie frowned and went into the house.  Smoky led his horse to the barn with perplexity and distress writ large upon his face.

“Notice to quit,” he muttered.  Then he grinned pleasantly.  “Reckon a perfect gen’leman ’d take the hint and clear out.  But I ain’t a perfect gen’leman.  What in thunder ails the girl?”

* * * * *

It was nearly seven when Pap Ransom reached his corral.  Smoky had milked the cow and fed the pigs.  In the kitchen Mintie was frying some potatoes and stirring the big pot full of beans and bacon.  From time to time Smoky had caught a glimpse of her white apron as she whisked in and out of the kitchen.  Although a singularly modest youth, he conceived the idea that Mintie was interested in his doings, whereas we must admit that she was more concerned about her father.  However, when she saw Pap ascend the hill, carrying his rifle over his shoulder, her face resumed its ordinary expression, and from that minute she gave to the simple preparations for supper undivided attention.

“Whar’s the liver?” said Smoky, as the old man nodded to him.

“Liver?”

“Heard a shot, jest one, and made certain a good buck was on his back.”

“I never fired no shot,” said Ransom slowly.

“Wal, I’m hanged!  Is there another Sharp besides mine in these yere hills?”

“I dessay.  I heard one shot myself, ’bout two hours ago.”

“Guess it was one o’ them derned squatters.”

“Curse ’em!” said Ransom.  He spat upon the ground and walked into the abode.  Smoky nodded reflectively.

Supper was not a particularly cheery meal.  Mintie, usually a nimble talker, held her tongue.  Ransom aired his pet grievance—­the advent of Easterners, who presumed to take up land which was supposed to belong to, or at least go with, the old Spanish grants.  Smoky and Mintie knew well enough that the land was Uncle Sam’s; but they knew also that Ransom had run his cattle over it during five-and-twenty years.  If that didn’t constitute a better title than a United States patent, there was no justice anywhere.  Smoky, filled with beans and bacon, exclaimed vehemently—­

“Shoot ’em on sight, that’s what I say.”