"Well, sir, me and Rabbit was disputin' about that a day or so ago. Funny how I seem to 'a' got mixed up on that, but I guess it wasn't Rabbit that used to pull my jug too hard. That must 'a' been a Mexican woman I was married to one time down by El Paso." "I'll bet money it was the Mexican woman. How did Rabbit get her face scalded?" "She tripped and fell in the hog-scaldin' vat like I told you, John." Mackenzie looked at him severely, almost ready to take the convalescent's prerogative and quarrel with his best friend. "What's the straight of it, you old hide-bound sinner?" Dad changed hands on his chin, fingering his beard with scraping noise, eyes downcast as if a little ashamed. "I guess it was me that took a snort too many out of the jug that day, John," he confessed. "Of course it was. And Rabbit tripped and fell into the tub trying to save you from it, did she?" "Well, John, them fellers said that was about the straight of it." "You ought to be hung for running away from her, you old hard-shelled scoundrel!" Dad took it in silence, and sat rubbing it into his beard like a liniment. After a while he rose, squinted his eye up at the sun with a quick turn of his head like a chicken. "I reckon every man's done something he ought to be hung for," he said. That ended it. Dad went off to begin supper, there being potatoes to cook. Sullivan had sent a sack of that unusual provender out to camp to help Mackenzie get his strength back in a hurry, he said. Tim himself put in his appearance at camp a little later in the day, when the scent of lamb stew that Dad had in the kettle was streaming over the hills. Tim could not resist it, for it was seasoned with wild onions and herbs, and between the four of them they left the pot as clean as Jack Spratt's platter, the dogs making a dessert on the bones. Dad and Rabbit went away presently to assemble the sheep for the night, and Tim let his Irish tongue wag as it would. He was in lively and generous mood, making a joke of the mingling of the flocks which had come so dearly to Mackenzie's account. He bore himself like a man who had gained something, indeed, and that was the interpretation put on it by Mackenzie. Tim led up to what he had come to discuss presently, beaming with stew and satisfaction when he spoke of Joan. "Of course you understand, John, I don't want you to think it was any slam on you that I took Joan off the range and made her stop takin' her book lessons from you. That girl got too fresh with me, denyin' my authority to marry her to the man I've picked." Mackenzie nodded, a great warmth of understanding glowing in his breast. "But I don't want you to feel that it was any reflection on your ability as a teacher, you understand, John; I don't want you to look at it that way at all." "Not at all," Mackenzie echoed, quite sincerely.