“Worse thing for Daddy, too,” flashed the girl.  “I wish you’d stay away from him.”

Wash laughed; “Your daddy couldn’t keep house ’thout me, nohow.  Who was that feller talkin’ with you an’ th’ old man down yonder?”

“There wasn’t nobody talkin’ to us,” replied Sammy shortly.

“That’s what he said, too,” growled Gibbs; “but I sure seed somebody a sneakin’ into th’ brush when I rode up.  I thought when I was down there hit might o’ been a hant; but I know hit was a man, now.  There’s somethin’ mighty funny a goin’ on around here, since that feller come int’ th’ neighborhood; an’ he’ll sure find somethin’ in Mutton Holler more alive than Ol’ Matt’s gal if he ain’t careful.”

The girl caught her breath quickly.  She knew the big ruffian’s methods, and with good reason feared for her old friend, should he even unconsciously incur the giant’s displeasure.

As they drew near the house, Wash continued, “Young Matt he was there too.  Let me tell you I ain’t forgot ’bout his big show at th’ mill last spring; he’ll have t’ do a heap better’n he done then, when I get ‘round t’ him.”

Sammy laughed scornfully, “’Pears like you ain’t been in no hurry t’ try it on.  I ain’t heard tell of Young Matt’s leaving th’ country yet.  You’d better stay away from Jennings’ still though, when you do try it.”  Then, while the man was tying his mule to the fence, she ran into the cabin to greet her father with a hysterical sob that greatly astonished Jim.  Before explanations could be made, a step was heard approaching the door, and Sammy had just time to say, “Wash Gibbs,” in answer to her father’s inquiring look, when the big man entered.  Mr. Lane arose to hang his violin on its peg.

“Don’t stop fer me, Jim,” said the newcomer.  “Jest let her go.  Me an’ Sammy’s been havin’ a nice little walk, an’ some right peart music would sound mighty fine.”  Gibbs was angered beyond reason at Sammy’s last words, or he would have exercised greater care.

Sammy’s father made no reply until the girl had left the room, but whatever it was that his keen eye read in his daughter’s face, it made him turn to his guest with anything but a cordial manner, and there was that in his voice that should have warned the other.

“So you and Sammy went for a walk, did you?”

“She was comin’ home from th’ sheep ranch, an’ I caught up with her,” explained Gibbs.  “I ’lowed as how she needed company, so I come ‘long.  I seemed t’ be ’bout as welcome as usual,” he added with an ugly grin.

“Meanin’ that my girl don’t want your company, and told you so?” asked the other softly.

Wash answered with a scowl; “Sammy’s gettin’ too dad burned good fer me since Ollie’s uncle took him in.  An’ now, this here old man from nowhere has come, it’s worse than ever.  She’ll put a rope ‘round our necks th’ first thing you know.”

Jim’s right hand slipped quietly inside his hickory shirt, where the button was missing, as he drawled, “My girl always was too good for some folks.  And it’s about time you was a findin’ it out.  She can’t help it.  She was born that way.  She’s got mighty good blood in her veins, that girl has; and I don’t aim to ever let it be mixed up with none of the low down common yeller kind.”