“Father asked me to say that he would like to have a talk with you on the veranda when you were ready.”
“I’ll go right out,” he answered, thanking her for the trouble she had taken.
He found Bissell seated in one of the big chairs outside, and took the other. Both men rolled a cigarette and then Bissell spoke.
“I owe you a great deal, Larkin, for saving my daughter last night,” he said with genuine emotion in his voice. “Under the circumstances I am sorry for what I did, and wish I had it to do over again.”
“As for the first, I don’t deserve much credit. Juliet really saved her own life by coming to us when I fired the warning shot. As to the sheep, it’s too late to think about them now; we’ll come to another reckoning in that matter later on. I’d hardly expect a horse-thief to do a trick like that.” 129
Bissell’s tanned face turned a deep mahogany hue under the sting of this remark, and his eyes lost the soft look they had held when he spoke of Juliet.
“I’m willing to pay yuh the money loss,” he replied, still anxious to make amends.
“On guarantee, I suppose, that I don’t try to bring the rest of my sheep north.”
“Yes.”
“That’s impossible, as you might know.”