She broke down again and dabbed at her eyes with her kerchief. Sam, very much embarrassed but not at all displeased at this display of feeling, patted her dark hair and encouraged her to composure. “There. It’s all right, now, ma’am. Sure you’ll be happy. Any mother that’s got kids like these—” He caught up the little girl in his arms by way of diverting attention from himself. This gave a new notion to the impulsive little woman. “I want you to kiss them both. Come here, Kennie. This is Mr. Yesler, and he is the best man you’ve ever seen. I want you to remember that he has been our best friend.” “Yes, mama.” “Oh, sho, ma’am!” protested the overwhelmed cattleman, kissing both the children, nevertheless. Pelton laughed. He felt a trifle hysterical himself. “If she thinks it she’ll say it when she feels that way. I’m right surprised she don’t kiss you, too.” “I will,” announced Norma promptly, with a pretty little tide of color. She turned toward him, and Yesler, laughing, met the red lips of the new friend he had made. “Now, you’ve got just grounds for shooting me,” he said gaily, and instantly regretted his infelicitous remark. For both husband and wife fell grave at his words. It was Pelton that answered them. “I’ve been taught a lesson, Mr. Yesler. I’m never going to pack a gun again as long as I live, unless I’m hunting or something of that sort, and I’m never going to drink another drop of liquor. It’s all right for some men, but it isn’t right for me.” “Glad to hear it. I never did believe in the hip-pocket habit. I’ve lived here twenty years, and I never found it necessary except on special occasions. When it comes to whisky, I reckon we’d all be better without it.” Yesler made his escape at the earliest opportunity and left them alone together. He lunched at the club, attended to some correspondence he had, and about 3:30 drifted down the street toward the post-office. He had expectations of meeting a young woman who often passed about that time on her way home from school duties. It was, however, another young woman whose bow he met in front of Mesa’s largest department store. “Good afternoon, Miss Balfour.” She nodded greeting and cast eyes of derision on him. “I’ve been hearing about you. Aren’t you ashamed of yourself?” “Yes, ma’am. What for in particular? There are so many things.” “You’re a fine Christian, aren’t you?” she scoffed. “I ain’t much of a one. That’s a fact,” he admitted. “What is it this time—poker?” “No, it isn’t poker. Worse than that. You’ve been setting a deplorable example to the young.” “To young ladies—like Miss Virginia?” he wanted to know.