The declining sun flashed on three weapons that already covered the cattleman.  He looked easily from one to another, without the least concern, and swung lightly from his horse.

“Much obliged.  Glad to accept your hospitality.  But about this young man here—­he’s not exactly a friend of mine—­a mere pick-up acquaintance, in fact.  You mustn’t accept him on my say-so.  Of course, you know I’m all right, but I can’t guarantee him,” Buck drawled, with magnificent effrontery.

Phyllis spoke up unexpectedly. “I can.”

Keller looked at her gratefully.  It was not that he cared so much for the certificate of character as for the friendly spirit that prompted it.  “That’s right kind of you,” he nodded.

“We haven’t heard yet what you are doing here, Buck Weaver,” old Jim Sanderson said, holding the cattleman with a hard and hostile eye.  “And after you’ve explained that, there are a few other things to make clear.”

“Such as——­” suggested the plainsman.

“Such as keeping my daughter a captive and insulting her while she was in your house,” the father retorted promptly.

“I held her captive because it was my right.  She admitted shooting me.  Would you expect me to turn her loose, and thank her right politely for it?  I want to tell you that some folks would be right grateful because I didn’t send her to the penitentiary.”

“You couldn’t send her there.  No jury in Arizona would convict—­even if she were guilty,” Tom Dixon broke out.

“That’s a frozen fact about the Arizona jury,” the cattleman agreed, with a swift, careless look at the boy.  “Just the same, I had a license to hold her.  About the insult—­well, I’ve got nothing to say.  Nothing except this, that I wouldn’t be wearing these decorations”—­he touched the scars on his face—­“if I didn’t agree with you that nobody but a sweep would have done it.”

“Everybody unanimous on that point, I reckon,” said Jim Yeager promptly.

Phyllis had been speaking to her father in a low voice.  The old man listened with no great patience, but finally nodded a concession to her importunity.

“We’ll waive the matter of the insult just now.  How about that boy you shot up?  Looks like you’re a fool to come drilling in here, with him still lying there on his bed.”

“He took his fighting chance.  You ain’t kicking because I played out the game the way you-all started to play it?  If you are, I’ll have to say I might have expected a sheep herder to look at it that way,” Weaver retorted insolently.

The old man took a grip on his rising wrath.  “No—­we’re not kicking, any more than you’ve got a right to kick when we settle accounts with you.”

“As we’re liable to do right shortly, now we’ve got you,” said Dixon, vindictively.

“All right—­go ahead with the indictment,” Weaver acquiesced quietly, ignoring the boy.