“That’s so.  I’d disremembered.  Wonder if I kin shoot as straight as I used ter?”

For answer his wife, usually so undemonstrative, bent down, took the pistol from his hand, put it back into the drawer, and, slightly blushing, kissed the old man’s cheek.

“Why, Lily, what ails ye?”

His surprise at this unwonted caress brought a faint smile to her thin lips.

“Nothing.”

“Ye ain’t tuk a notion that yer goin’ to die?”

“Nothing ails me, Jaspar,” her voice was strong and steady.  “I’m strong as I was twenty year ago, or nearly so.  I kin begin life over agen, ef I hev to.”

“Who said you hed to?” enquired her husband fiercely.  “Who said you hed to?” he repeated.  “Susan Jane Fullalove?  I’d like ter wring her dam neck.  Oh, it wan’t her, eh?  Wal, you take if from me that you ain’t agoin’ to begin life agen onless it’s in a marble hall sech as you’ve dreamed about ever since you was shortcoated.  Let me hear no more sech talk.  D’ye hear?”

“I hear,” she answered meekly, and went back to her kitchen.

* * * * *

Next day she came to us across the cow-pasture as we were smoking our pipes after the mid-day meal.  We guessed that no light matter had brought her afoot, with such distress upon her face.

“I’m in trouble,” she said nervously.

“We are your friends,” said Ajax gravely.

“Jaspar’s gone to town,” she gasped.

Uncle Jap, since the striking of the oil, had been in the habit of going to town so often that this statement aroused no surprise.  We waited for more information.

“I’m scared plum ter death,” Mrs. Panel continued.  “I want ter foller him at onst.  Jaspar’s taken the team.  I thought maybe you’d hitch up and drive me in this afternoon—­now.”

The last word left her lips with a violence that was positively imperative.

“Certainly,” said Ajax.  He turned to leave the room.  We neither of us asked a question.  Upon the threshold he addressed me: 

“I’ll bring the buggy round while you change.”

I reflected that it was considerate of Ajax to allow me to drive Mrs. Panel the twenty-six miles between our ranch and San Lorenzo.  I nodded and went into my bedroom.

* * * * *

For the first ten miles, Mrs. Panel never opened her lips.  I glanced occasionally at her impassive face, wondering when she would speak.  Somehow I knew that she would speak, and she did.  It was like her to compress all she had left unsaid into the first sentence.

“Jaspar’s gone plum crazy with trouble! he took his six-shooter with him.”

After that, details given with a descriptive realism impossible to reproduce.  The poor creature revealed herself to me during the next few minutes as I feel sure she had never revealed herself to her husband.