The deliberate purpose of the speaker was too evident to be mistaken.  The other man’s hand flew to his hip almost before Mr. Lane had finished his sentence.  But Wash was not quick enough.  Like a flash Jim’s hand was withdrawn from inside the hickory shirt, and the giant looked squarely into the muzzle of Jim Lane’s ever ready, murderous weapon.

In the same even voice, without the slightest allusion to the unfinished movement of the other, Mr. Lane continued, “I done told you before that my girl would pick her own company, and I ain’t never feared for a minute that she’d take up with such as you.  Ollie Stewart ain’t so mighty much of a man, maybe, but he’s clean, he is, and the stock’s pretty good.  Now you can just listen to me, or you can mosey out of that door, and the next time we meet, we will settle it for good, without any further arrangement.”

As Sammy’s father talked, the big figure of his visitor relaxed, and when Jim had finished his slow speech, Wash was leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, his hands clasped in front.  “We ain’t got no call t’ fight, now, Jim,” he said in a tone of respect.  “We got something else t’ think about; an’ that’s what I come here fer t’night.  I didn’t aim t’, ’til I seed what I did at th’ ranch down yonder.  I tell you hit’s time we was a doin’ somethin’.”

At this, Mr. Lane’s face and manner changed quickly.  He put up his weapon, and the two men drew their chairs close together, as though Death had not a moment before stretched forth his hand to them.

For an hour they sat talking in low tones.  Sammy in the next room had heard the conversation up to this point, but now only an occasional word reached her ears.  Gibbs seemed to be urging some action, and her father was as vigorously protesting.  “I tell you, Jim, hit’s th’ only safe way.  You didn’t use t’ be so squeamish.  Several times the old shepherd was mentioned, and also the stranger whom Wash had seen that evening.  And once, the trembling girl heard Young Matt’s name.  At length the guest rose to go, and Mr. Lane walked with him to the gate.  Even after the big man was mounted, the conversation still continued; Wash still urging and Jim still protesting.

When his visitor was gone, Mr. Lane came slowly back to the house.  Extinguishing the light, he seated himself in the open doorway, and filled his pipe.  Sammy caught the odor of tobacco, and a moment later Jim heard a light, quick step on the floor behind him.  Then two arms went around his neck; “What is it, Daddy?  What is it?  Why don’t you drive that man away?”

“Did you hear us talkin’?” asked the man, an anxious note in his voice.

“I heard you talkin’ to him about pesterin’ me, but after that, you didn’t talk so loud.  What is the matter, Daddy, that he could stay and be so thick with you after the things you said?  I was sure he’d make you kill him.”

Jim laughed softly; “You’re just like your mother, girl.  Just like her, with the old blood a backin’ you up.”  Then he asked a number of questions about Mr. Howitt, and her visit to the ranch that evening.