Dallas weeded on, unconscious of a visitor. The corn was shoulder-high now, and bearded. Its long leaves swayed and whispered, covering the sound of Matthews' approach. But when he was yet some rods off, a flock of ground-sparrows rose before him with startled twitters. At that, she looked back. The next instant, she had caught up the Sharps. Matthews halted and lifted his hat, displaying hair pasted down to a silky smoothness. "I ain't got no gun," he said quietly. "I jus' come for to have a talk." She made no answer. The interpreter shifted from foot to foot and mopped his forehead. "I allus been sorry for what I done las' winter," he went on. "I was a blame fool to come scarin' you gals--ought to knowed better. But, you see, when I started, nobody told me there was women folks over here." Dallas took a deep breath. "I wanted to tell you," continued Matthews. "And--and I wanted to say I feel sorry about you' losin' your pa. Now he's dead, I wouldn't take this here land if you come to me and says, 'Nick, it's yourn.' That's jus' the way I feel--yes, ma'am. I savvy how to treat a lady, Miss Lancaster, gentlemanly and honourable." "You talk nice," commented the girl. His look faltered from hers. He gave his hard laugh. "You're a little out of temper," he said soothingly. "_That's_ natural, though. You had a lot of trouble." "My trouble's all owing to you," she answered passionately. "And I'll thank you to go--_right now_." He put out a hand in expostulation. "Jus' a minute," he begged. "You done me wrong, but I don't hold it ag'in you. Jus' believe I didn't hurt your pa. And I admire you and your sister--sure I do. By golly! You're blamed sandy!" "You take big chances to come here." "Now, Miss Lancaster!" His chin sank. He wagged his head dolefully. Then, whether from warmth, or a desire to display the glories of his raiment, he took off his blouse. As he talked, in a half-whine that was meant to be placating, Simon suddenly became a more interested spectator. He began to revolve again, and at the very end of his rope, slipping around with tigerish gracefulness; or, the rope taut, he halted as near as possible to the two in the corn, stamped one forefoot angrily and shook his curly head. There, a bold affront, was that blot of glaring scarlet. It awoke in him a long-slumbering lust for fight. But the interpreter did not remark the bull. After repeated praise and condolence, he had arrived at the main object of his visit.