"Your mother left us there, girl. Seemed like she couldn't stand
it, bein' away from the hills or somethin', and she just give up.
I never did rightly know how it was. We buried her out there, way
out on the big plains."

"I remember her a little," whispered Sammy. Jim continued; "Then
after a time you and me come back to the old place. Your mother
named you Samantha, girl, but bein' as there wasn't no boy, I
always called you Sammy. It seems right enough that way now, for
you've sure been more'n a son to me since we've been alone; and
that's one reason why I learned you to ride and shoot with the
best of them.

"There's them that says I ain't done right by you, bringing you up
without ary woman about the place; and I don't know as I have, but
somehow I couldn't never think of no woman as I ought, after
living with your mother. And then there was Aunt Mollie to learn
you how to cook and do things about the house. I counted a good
bit, too, on the old stock, and it sure showed up right. You're
like the old folks, girl, in the way you think, but you're like
your mother in the way you look."

Sammy's arms went around her father's neck, "You're a good man,
Daddy Jim; the best Daddy a girl ever had; and if I ain't all bad,
it's on account of you." There was a queer look on the man's dark
face. He had sketched some parts of his tale with a broad hand,
indeed.

The girl raised her head again; "But, Daddy, I wish you'd do
something for me. I--I don't like Wash Gibbs to be a comin' here.
I wish you'd quit ridin' with him, Daddy. I'm--I'm afeared of him;
he looks at me so. He's a sure bad one--I know he is, Daddy."

Jim laughed and again there was that odd metallic note in his
voice; "I've knowed him a long time, honey. Me and his daddy was--
was together when he died; and you used to sit on Wash's knee when
you was a little tad. Not that he's so mighty much older than you,
but he was a man's size at fifteen. You don't understand, girl,
but I've got to go with him sometimes. But don't you fret; Wash
Gibbs ain't goin' to hurt me, and he won't come here more'n I can
help, either." Then he changed the subject abruptly. "Tell me what
you've been doin' while I was away."

Sammy told of' her visit to their friends at the Matthews place,
and of the stranger who had come into the neighborhood. As the
girl talked, her father questioned her carefully, and several
times the metallic note crept into his soft, drawling speech,
while