"Say, sis, ain't yer got any friends to sort of stand off the feller as allows to do the killin'?"
"No, sir, nobody except father, and he—drinks sometimes and don't care for Rover, and he says he don't want no trouble."
"Ain't yer got no one else?"
"No, sir; nobody but Rover. Mother's dead and I ain't got nobody but Rover. Oh, dear me!"
The girl buried her face in the shaggy coat of her friend and sobbed.
The Cowboy sat down on the step beside her; the dog eyed him inquiringly, but evidently decided he was a friend and wagged his tail slightly.
"Don't cry, my girl; brace up, now; perhaps they won't kill him after all."
"Oh, yes, they will. Jake is over in the saloon now; I saw him go in. He'll do it sure; he hates Rover."
"May I speak to your lap-dog? Will he tear me up much if I pat him?" inquired the Cowboy.