“Don’t you put them things on this boy—­he’s my grandson.  An’, anyhow, ef you two full-grown men can’t handle a boy without ’em I’ll go ’long with you myself.”

Shamed, the man put the irons back in his pocket, and the other one started to speak but stopped.  The old man turned hospitably toward his unwelcome guests.

“I reckon all o’ ye want a bite to eat afore ye start.  Mammy!”

The door to the kitchen opened and the aged grandmother halted there, peering through brass-rimmed spectacles at her husband and the two men, and catching sight last of little Jason standing in the corner—­trapped, white-faced, silent.  Instantly she caught the meaning of the scene, and with a little cry she tottered over to the boy and putting both her hands on his breast began to pat him gently.  Then, still helplessly patting him with one hand, she turned to her husband.

“You hain’t goin’ to give the boy up, Jason?” she asked plaintively, and the old man swerved his face aside and nodded.

“Git up somethin’ to eat, mammy,” he said with rough gentleness, and without another look or word she turned with her apron at her eyes to the kitchen door.  The old man glared out the window, the boy sank on a chair at the corner of the fireplace, and in the face of one of the men there was sympathy.  The other, shifty of eyes and crafty of face, spoke harshly.

“How much o’ this reward do you want?”

Old Jason wheeled and the other man cried sternly: 

“Shut up, you fool!”

“You lop-yeared rattlesnake!” began old Jason, and with a contemptuous gesture dismissed him.  “How much is that reward?”

The other man hesitated, and then with the thought that the fact would soon be world-known answered promptly: 

“For the capture and conviction of the murderer—­one hundred thousand dollars.”

The old man gasped at the amazing sum; his face worked suddenly with convulsive rage and calmed in a sudden way that made the watching boy know that something was going to happen.  Quietly old Jason walked over to the fire and stood with his back to it.  He pulled out his pipe, filled it, and turned again to the mantel-piece as though to reach for a match, but instead whipped two big revolvers from it and wheeled.

“Hands up, men!” he said quietly.  For a moment the two were paralyzed, but the thick-set man, whose instincts were quicker, obeyed slowly.  The other one started to laugh.

“Up!” called the old man sternly, levelling one pistol, and the laugh stopped, the man’s face paled, and his hands flew high.

“Git their guns fer a minute, Jasie, an’ put em’ up hyeh on the mantel.  A hundred thousand dollars is a leetle too much.”

The kitchen door opened and again the old woman peered through her spectacles within.

“I knowed you wouldn’t do it, pap,” she said.  “Dinner’s ready—­ come on in now, men, an’ git a bite to eat.”