“Charlie,” she pleaded, looking up into his face, “you mustn’t hurt Mr. Levine.  He’s my best friend.  And it is not polite to come to call at my house and make a row, this way.”

“That’s right,” commented Marshall.  “Do your fighting outdoors.”

John had not stirred from his chair.  He looked up at the Indian and said slowly and insolently, “Get out of here!  You know what I can do to you, don’t you?  Well, get out before I do it!”

Charlie returned John’s look of contempt with one of concentrated hatred.  Then he turned to Kent.

“Come on, Kent,” he growled and followed by his friend, he marched out of the kitchen door.

“Whew!” said Amos, “talk about civilizing Indians!”

Lydia was trembling violently.  “What made him act so——­ Did you hurt his sister, Mr. Levine?”

“Didn’t even know he had a sister,” returned John, coolly relighting his cigar.

Marshall rose and stretched his fat body.  “Well, you serve up too much excitement for me, Amos.  I’ll be getting along.  Come, Margery.”

“Wait and we’ll all have some coffee,” said Lizzie.  “Land, I’m all shook up.”

“Pshaw! ’twan’t anything.  Kent should have had more sense than to bring him in here,” said Levine.

“Why, he’s usually perfectly lovely,” protested Lydia.  “Goes to parties with the girls and everything.”

“I wouldn’t go to a party with a dirty Indian,” said Margery, her nose up in the air.

“What do you know about parties, chicken?” asked Marshall, buttoning her coat for her.

“Mama says I can go next year when I enter High School,” replied Margery.

“First boy, white or Indian, that comes to call on you before you’re eighteen, I’ll turn the hose on,” said Dave, winking at the men.

Amos and John laughed and Dave made his exit in high good humor.

When the door had closed Amos said, “Any real trouble with the boy, John?”

“Shucks, no!” returned Levine.  “Forget it!”

And forget it they did while the November dusk drew to a close and the red eyes of the stove blinked a warmer and warmer glow.  About eight o’clock, after a light supper, Levine started back for town.  He had not been gone five minutes when a shot cracked through the breathless night air.

Amos started for the door but Lizzie grasped his arm.  “You stay right here, Amos, and take care of the house.”

“What do you s’pose it was?” whispered Lydia.  “I wish Mr. Levine was here.  He’s sheriff.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of—­that something’s happened, to him—­between his being sheriff and his other interests.  I’ll get my lantern.”

“Wait!  I’ll have to fill it for you,” said Lydia.

So it was that while Amos fumed and Lydia sought vainly for a new wick, footsteps sounded on the porch, the door opened and Billy Norton and his father supported John Levine into the living-room.  Levine’s overcoat showed a patch of red on the right breast.