Suddenly Little Jim's face brightened. He marched through the house to the wash bench, and, unsolicited, washed his hands and face and soaped his hair, after which he slicked it down carefully, so that there might be no mistake about his having brushed and combed it. He rather hoped that Uncle Frank or Aunt Jane would come in just then and find him at this unaccustomed task. It might help.
Meanwhile, Cheyenne and his brother-in-law had a talk, outside. Dorothy and Aunt Jane retired to the veranda, talking in low tones. Presently Little Jim, who could stand the strain no longer,--the jury seemed a long time at arriving at a verdict,--appeared on the front veranda, hatless, washed, and his hair fearfully and wonderfully brushed and combed.
"Why, Jimmy!" exclaimed Dorothy.
Jimmy fidgeted and glanced away bashfully. Presently he stole to his Aunt Jane's side.
"Am I goin' to get a lickin'?" he queried.
Aunt Jane shook her head, and patted his hand. Entrenched beside Aunt Jane, Jimmy watched his father and Uncle Frank as they talked by the big corral. Uncle Frank was gesturing toward the mountains. Cheyenne was arguing quietly.
"It ain't just the runnin' off of Sneed's hosses," said Uncle Frank. "That's bad enough. But I told Jimmy to keep away from Sneed's."
"So did I," declared Cheyenne. "And seein' as I'm his dad, it's up to me to lick him if he's goin' to get licked."
"Sneed is like to ride down some night and set fire to the barns," asserted Uncle Frank.
"Sneed don't know yet who run off his stock. And he can't say that I did, and prove it. Now, Frank, you just hold your hosses. I'll ride over to camp and get my outfit together and come over here. Then we'll throw Steve Brown's hosses into your pasture, and I'll see that Sneed's stock is out of here, pronto."