These things were supposed to give Salomy Jane an undue importance, but the girl’s reserve and inaccessibility to local advances were rather the result of a cool, lazy temperament and the preoccupation of a large, protecting admiration for her father, for some years a widower.  For Mr. Madison Clay’s life had been threatened in one or two feuds,—­it was said, not without cause,—­and it is possible that the pathetic spectacle of her father doing his visiting with a shotgun may have touched her closely and somewhat prejudiced her against the neighboring masculinity.  The thought that cattle, horses, and “quarter section” would one day be hers did not disturb her calm.  As for Mr. Clay, he accepted her as housewifely, though somewhat “interfering,” and, being one of “his own womankind,” therefore not without some degree of merit.

“Wot’s this yer I’m hearin’ of your doin’s over at Red Pete’s?  Honeyfoglin’ with a horse-thief, eh?” said Mr. Clay two days later at breakfast.

“I reckon you heard about the straight thing, then,” said Salomy Jane unconcernedly, without looking round.

“What do you kalkilate Rube will say to it?  What are you goin’ to tell him?” said Mr. Clay sarcastically.

“Rube,” or Reuben Waters, was a swain supposed to be favored particularly by Mr. Clay.  Salomy Jane looked up.

“I’ll tell him that when he’s on his way to be hung, I’ll kiss him,—­not till then,” said the young lady brightly.

This delightful witticism suited the paternal humor, and Mr. Clay smiled; but, nevertheless, he frowned a moment afterwards.

“But this yer hoss-thief got away arter all, and that’s a hoss of a different color,” he said grimly.

Salomy Jane put down her knife and fork.  This was certainly a new and different phase of the situation.  She had never thought of it before, and, strangely enough, for the first time she became interested in the man.  “Got away?” she repeated.  “Did they let him off?”

“Not much,” said her father briefly.  “Slipped his cords, and going down the grade pulled up short, just like a vaquero agin a lassoed bull, almost draggin’ the man leadin’ him off his hoss, and then skyuted up the grade.  For that matter, on that hoss o’ Judge Boompointer’s he mout have dragged the whole posse of ’em down on their knees ef he liked!  Sarved ’em right, too.  Instead of stringin’ him up afore the door, or shootin’ him on sight, they must allow to take him down afore the hull committee ‘for an example.’  ‘Example’ be blowed!  Ther’ ’s example enough when some stranger comes unbeknownst slap onter a man hanged to a tree and plugged full of holes.  That’s an example, and he knows what it means.  Wot more do ye want?  But then those Vigilantes is allus clingin’ and hangin’ onter some mere scrap o’ the law they’re pretendin’ to despise.  It makes me sick!  Why, when Jake Myers shot your ole Aunt Viney’s second husband, and I laid in wait for Jake afterwards in the Butternut Hollow, did I tie him to his hoss and fetch him down to your Aunt Viney’s cabin ‘for an example’ before I plugged him?  No!” in deep disgust.  “No!  Why, I just meandered through the wood, careless-like, till he comes out, and I just rode up to him, and I said”—­