"You say the mountain lion was crouched to spring at you? Then it must o' been that she had some young near. They're cowards when it comes to humans, them lions are. They kill sheep an' calves an' deer, an' all the little wild critters, but they don't often attack a man. They'll trail 'em for hours, curious, sort of, I reckon, keepin' out of sight. Makes you feel mighty uncomfortable to know one of them big critters is prowlin' arter you, whatever his intentions may be. But that 'un, now, you was mentionin', I'll walk back wi' you, when you go, an' take a look at it. Thar's a bounty paid for 'em by the ranchers. An' if young air near by, there'll be no time better for puttin' an end to 'em." Ma Heger glanced often toward the wooded mountain beyond Meg's "Bot'ny Gardens." Then to her husband she said: "I reckon Meg knows thar's company, an' that's why she's stayin' so long. She said to me, 'Ma, I ain't agoin' to school today,' says she. 'I reckon I'll get some more specimens.'" At that the man looked up quickly, evident alarm in his clear blue eyes. "Did she say anything about havin' seen that skulkin' Ute? Has he been pesterin' her? The day arter she's given him money, she don' dare go to school, fearin' he'll be rarin' drunk wi' fire-water an' waylay her. If ever I come up wi' that coyote, I'll--I'll----" The wife tried to quiet the increasing anger of her spouse. "Pa Heger," she said, "you're alarmin' yerself needless. That Ute knows the sheriff gave you power to jail him, an' he's mos' likely gone to whar his tribe is." Dan stood silently, wondering what he ought to say. He knew that Meg had given the old Indian money, and he realized that was why she had been at home to save his life. "I shall be glad to have you walk back with me, Mr. Heger," he said. Dan wanted to be alone with the mountaineer. When they had started down the mountain road, the man at Dan's side was silent, a frown gathering on his leathery forehead. Suddenly he blurted out: "This here business has got to stop. That slinkin' ol' Ute's got to prove that my Meg is his gal. In the courts, he's got to prove it, or I'll have him strung up. Jail's too good for him. Pesterin' a little gal to get her to give up her savin's that she's been puttin' by this five year past, meanin' to go to school in the big city and larn to be a teacher. That's what Meg's figgerin' on, and that skulkin' Ute drainin' it away from her little by little. I made her pack a gun, an' tol' her to shoot him on sight, but I reckon she ain't got the heart to take a life, though I'd sooner trap him than I would a--well, a coyote that he's named arter."