my story," and he told it.

The effect of it was to loose her tongue to its utmost. One may guess
the listener heard himself portrayed in colors he failed to recognize
and that he realized he had made a mistake in the selection of a
_confidante_. However, his purpose had been to do away with all doubt
concerning himself, and to do this with as little distress to his hostess
as possible. For that reason he had believed a woman would be his
best aid, but it proved that almost any ranchman on the place would
have been safer than she.

"Well, I ought to have known that a female who talks so much must
say something amiss, and I can't blame her for her indignation. In her
stead I might have behaved worse; and the thing now is to get over
this little weakness and go away about the miserable business, at once,"
he reflected. Then he watched her hurry out of his room and surmised
whither she would turn her steps. Therefore, he was not surprised when,
somewhat later, he also left the cottage to find himself confronted by
great Samson, quietly, but significantly, awaiting the stranger's
appearance. For the great fellow had naturally been appointed by his
mates to "settle that critter's hash and settle it sudden."

"Good-morning, Samson."

Silence.

"It seems so wonderful to me to wake and find this changeless sunshine,
day after day, as if no such things as storms could ever exist," said
the lawyer, pleasantly.

Samson's grimness relaxed to a slight degree. "Some kind of storms blow
in fair weather. Likely you'll meet up with one sooner'n you expect.
Step this way, will you?"

The sailor's expression was so formidable that, for a moment, all the
wild tales the lawyer had ever read of western desperadoes returned to
test his already weakened nerves. But he was no coward, and knew that
though in a most uncomfortable position, it was by no means a guilty one.

"Certainly."

Samson led the way, if walking closely beside the guest, as a constable
walks beside his prisoner, may be termed leading. Nor once did he turn
his angry gaze from the gentleman's face, and the riding-crop in his
hand swung to and fro, as if longing to test itself against some
enemy's body. The walk ended in the ranchmen's messroom, where Wun
Lung, released from the cottage kitchen, had already been impressed
into service, and was deftly preparing breakfast. Aunt Sally had
disappeared, but Jessica was there, perched on a corner of the dresser,
by which