somebody ought to go over there and help her straighten things out."

"I'll see to it," Tim promised. "Yes, it must be done. Now that wild
devil's dead we must be neighborly with the widow and give her a
chance. I'll see to it tomorrow. Where's my Joan?"

"She's making some broth for my supper."

"That's right, that's right--she'll care for you, lad; I'll leave her
here with Rabbit to care for you. Sure. She was for you, all along. I
couldn't see it."

"Well, you've got it right this time," Mackenzie said.

Tim beamed. He rubbed his hands, great satisfaction in his face.

"I'll find somebody else for my Mary--we'll consider her no more," he
said. "Let you go on with Joan in the bargain in place of Mary, and
give me three years for her, and the day you marry her I'll drive over
to you a thousand sheep."

"Nothing doing," said Mackenzie.

"Two years, we'll say--two instead of three, John. Joan will be her
own man in two years; she'll be twenty-one. And the day you marry her
I'll make it fifteen hundred sheep."

"She's her own man now under the laws of this state, and I'm taking
her without a single head of sheep. You can keep them all--Joan is
enough for me."

Tim was a greatly injured man. His face lengthened two inches, a look
of reproach came into his eyes; he seemed on the point of dissolving
in tears.

"You're not goin' to quit me and take away my girl, the best one of my
flock, my ewe lamb, my Joan? I didn't think you'd turn on me like
that, lad; I didn't think you had it in your heart!"

"You took away Joan's ewe lambs, and her buck lambs, and all her
lambs, more than a thousand of them, after she'd served you through
sun and storm and earned them like a man. No, I don't think I could
trust you two years, Mr. Sullivan; I don't believe your memory would
hold you to a bargain that long, seeing that it would be in the
family, especially."

"I'll give Joan back her flock, to run it like she was runnin' it, and
I'll put it in writin' with you both. Two years, we'll say, John--two
short easy years."

"No."

"Don't you throw away your chances now, John, don't you do it, lad. If
you marry my Joan now I'll give you not a sheep, not one blind wether!
But if you'll stay by me a year for her I'll give you a weddin' at the
end of that time they'll put big in the papers at Cheyenne, and I'll
hand over to you three thousand sheep, in your own name."

"I'm not thinking as much about sheep as I was three month