Presently Mintie joined them and, sitting down, began to darn some stockings. Apparently she was engrossed with her work, but Smoky stared at her, noticing that her fingers trembled. Ransom smoked and said nothing. Smoky talked, trying to challenge Mintie's interest and attention, but sensible of failure. Moreover, he had nothing to talk about except bad times and bad luck. Father and daughter listened grimly, well aware that their friend and neighbour was fighting against lack of water, a sterile soil, and a "plastered" ranch. "Why don't you quit?" Ransom asked testily. "I ain't a quitter." "He don't know enough to let go," said Mintie. "I could earn good money with my uncle in Los Angeles County. He wants me." Mintie tossed her head. "If he wants you, the sooner you skin outer this the better." "Uncle's well fixed," said Smoky, "and an old bach. He wants a live young man to take aholt with his ranch, and a live young woman to run the shebang. If I was married----!" "Pity you ain't," said Mintie, without looking up. Ransom, who had conducted his courting upon Western principles, rose up slowly and disappeared. Left alone with his beloved, the young man blushed and held his tongue. "You think a heap o' the old man?" he hazarded, after an interminable pause. "I do. He's a man, is Pap." "Meanin'?" "Anything you please." "You mean that I ain't a man?" Mintie laughed softly; and at that moment the old dog, lying by the hearth, got up and growled. Rebuked by Mintie, he continued growling, while the hair upon his aged back began to bristle with rage. "Hark!" exclaimed Mintie. They could hear voices outside. The dog barked furiously as somebody hammered hard upon the door. "Who can it be?" said Mintie nervously. Smoky Jack opened the door; four or five men came in. At the door opposite appeared Ransom. "What is it?" he asked harshly. "What brings you here at this time o' night?" The leader of the party, a tall 'Piker,' answered as curtly-- "Business." "What business?" "I don't talk business afore wimmenfolks." Mintie's face was white enough now, and her lips were quivering. "Come you here, child," said her father. He looked at her steadily. "You go to bed an' stay there. Not a word! An' don't worry." Mintie hesitated, opened her mouth and closed it. Then she walked quietly out of the room. "What brings you here?" repeated Ransom. "Murder." "Murder? Whose murder?" "This afternoon," replied the 'Piker,' "Jake Farge was shot dead on your land, not a quarter of a mile from this yere house. His widder found him and come to me." "Wal?" "She says the shot that killed him must ha' bin fired 'bout six. She heard it, an' happened to look at the clock." "Wal?" "She swears that you fired it." Smoky burst in impetuously-- "At six I kin swear that Pap was a-talkin' to me in his own corral." The squatters glanced at each other. The 'Piker' laughed derisively. "In love with his darter, ain't ye?" "I am--and proud of it!"