Sammy laughed scornfully, “’Pears like you ain’t been in no hurry t’ try it on. I ain’t heard tell of Young Matt’s leaving th’ country yet. You’d better stay away from Jennings’ still though, when you do try it.” Then, while the man was tying his mule to the fence, she ran into the cabin to greet her father with a hysterical sob that greatly astonished Jim. Before explanations could be made, a step was heard approaching the door, and Sammy had just time to say, “Wash Gibbs,” in answer to her father’s inquiring look, when the big man entered. Mr. Lane arose to hang his violin on its peg.
“Don’t stop fer me, Jim,” said the newcomer. “Jest let her go. Me an’ Sammy’s been havin’ a nice little walk, an’ some right peart music would sound mighty fine.” Gibbs was angered beyond reason at Sammy’s last words, or he would have exercised greater care.
Sammy’s father made no reply until the girl had left the room, but whatever it was that his keen eye read in his daughter’s face, it made him turn to his guest with anything but a cordial manner, and there was that in his voice that should have warned the other.
“So you and Sammy went for a walk, did you?”
“She was comin’ home from th’ sheep ranch, an’ I caught up with her,” explained Gibbs. “I ’lowed as how she needed company, so I come ’long. I seemed t’ be ’bout as welcome as usual,” he added with an ugly grin.
“Meanin’ that my girl don’t want your company, and told you so?” asked the other softly.
Wash answered with a scowl; “Sammy’s gettin’ too dad burned good fer me since Ollie’s uncle took him in. An’ now, this here old man from nowhere has come, it’s worse than ever. She’ll put a rope ’round our necks th’ first thing you know.”
Jim’s right hand slipped quietly inside his hickory shirt, where the button was missing, as he drawled, “My girl always was too good for some folks. And it’s about time you was a findin’ it out. She can’t help it. She was born that way. She’s got mighty good blood in her veins, that girl has; and I don’t aim to ever let it be mixed up with none of the low down common yeller kind.”
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 Like a flash Jim’s hand was withdrawn from inside the hickory shirt, and the giant looked squarely into the muzzle of Jim Lane’s ever ready, murderous weapon.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.”