Preachin’ Bill says “There’s a heap o’ difference in most men, but Jim Lane now he’s more different than _ary_ man you ever seed. Ain’t no better neighbor’n Jim anywhere. Ride out o’ his way any time t’ do you a favor. But you bet there ain’t ary man lives can ask Jim any fool questions while Jim’s a lookin’ at him. Tried it onct myself. Jim was a waitin’ at th’ ferry fer Wash Gibbs, an’ we was a talkin’ ’long right peart ’bout crops an’ th’ weather an’ such, when I says, says I, like a dumb ol’ fool, ‘How’d you like it down in Texas, Jim, when you was there that time?’ I gonies! His jaw shet with a click like he’d cocked a pistol, an’ that look o’ hisn, like he was a seein’ plumb through you, come int’ his eyes, an’ he says, says he, quiet like, ‘D’ you reckon that rain over on James yesterday raised th’ river much?’ An’ ’fore I knowed it, I was a tellin’ him how that ol’ red bull o’ mine treed th’ Perkins’ boys when they was a possum huntin’.” Many stories of the Bald Knobber days, when the law of the land was the law of rifle and rope, were drifting about the country side, and always, when these tales were recited, the name of Jim Lane was whispered; while the bolder ones wondered beneath their breath where Jim went so much with that Wash Gibbs, whose daddy was killed by the Government. Mr. Lane was a tall man, well set up, with something in his face and bearing that told of good breeding; southern blood, one would say, by the dark skin, and the eyes, hair, and drooping mustache of black. His companion, Wash Gibbs, was a gigantic man; taller and heavier, even, than the elder Matthews, but more loosely put together than Old Matt; with coarse, heavy features, and, as Grandma Bowles said, “the look of a sheep killin’ dog.” Grandma, being very near her journey’s end, could tell the truth even about Wash Gibbs, but others spoke of the giant only in whispers, save when they spoke in admiration of his physical powers. As the two men swung stiffly from their saddles, Sammy came running to greet her father with a kiss of welcome; this little exhibition of affection between parent and child was one of the many things that marked the Lanes as different from the natives of that region. Your true backwoodsman carefully hides every sign of his love for either family or friends. Wash Gibbs stood looking on with an expression upon his brutal face that had very little of the human in it. Releasing his daughter, Mr. Lane said, “Got anything to eat, honey? We’re powerful hungry. Wash ’lowed we’d better tie up at the river, but I knew you’d be watching for me. The horses are plumb beat.” And Gibbs broke in with a coarse laugh, “I wouldn’t mind killin’ a hoss neither, if I was t’ git what you do at th’ end o’ th’ ride.” To this, Jim made no reply; but began loosening the saddle girths, while Sammy only said, as she turned toward the house, “I’ll have supper ready for you directly, Daddy.”