Lambert followed him to the door and called after him, in a clear tone: "You tell him to come down or I'll go up. Now mind you say just those words."
Morton smiled with joy in Lambert's decisive utterance. "So much for having authority, as well as the will to act!"
Pratt appeared at the head of the stairs. "What is it now, Jenkins?"
"The gentleman insists on seeing you, sir; it's Mr. Lambert."
"Stay where you are," commanded Pratt, "I'll come down and see what's wanted."
Lambert, with quiet, upturned face, watched the master of the house descend slowly step by step, and Morton, contrasting the two men, awaited the collision with rising apprehension. The Western man seemed so small, so inoffensive in manner, in contrast with the grizzled, insolent face of the sullen old man approaching with heavy jaw set at a bull-dog angle. "Well, sir, what is it?" he contemptuously inquired.
Lambert waited so long that his questioner began to wonder, and then remarked, quietly: "So you're Pratt!"
"I am."
"Well, I'm Joe Lambert, of Fremont, and I've come to relieve you of the keep of my wife and daughter." Nothing could have been more telling, more admirable, than his tone. Every word told, and as Pratt stood in a daze of surprise Lambert turned to the servant. "Now, George, you try again. You tell Mrs. Lambert her husband wants to see her, and you may ask Clarke to come along. I want a word or two with him."
"Wait!" called Pratt. "I want to know—"