Mayhew stared in alarm for a moment, then he said: “There’s no use talking about parting. I only want to kind of hold you in check. You get your sympathies stirred up and make plunges sometimes when you ought to act with a clear head. You say the crop looks well; then, it’s all right. Go ahead, Mrs. Stark. Anything Nelson does is agreeable to me.” “Well, it’s mighty good of you both,” the old woman said, wiping tears of joy from her eyes. “No, I won’t buy anything today. I’ll ride out to the farm as quick as I can and tell Peter the good news. He’s mighty nigh out of his senses about it.” Mayhew followed her down into the store. It was as if he were ashamed to meet the quizzical look which Pole Baker had fixed upon him. He had no sooner turned his back than Pole faced Floyd and asked: “How does she stand by your ticker?” Floyd looked at his watch. “It’s a quarter-past eleven,” he said. “The hell it is!” Pole went to the back door and looked out at the dreary stable-yard and barn. He stood there for several minutes in deep thought. Then he seemed to make up his mind on something that was troubling him, for he suddenly thrust his hand into his hip-pocket and drew out a revolver and rapidly twirled the cylinder with his heavy thumb. “Yes, I ’lowed I’d swore off from shootin’ scrapes,” he mused; “but I shore have to git in this ’un. I’d never look Sally an’ the childern in the face agin ef I was to stand still an’ let that dead shot kill the best friend me an’ them ever had. No, Poley, old boy, you’ve got to enlist this mornin’, an’ thar hain’t no two ways about it. I’d take a drink on that, but a feller’s aim hain’t wuth a dang when he sees double.” His attention was suddenly attracted to Floyd, who had left his stool and was putting a revolver into the pocket of his sack coat. Pole shoved his own cautiously back into his pocket and went to his friend’s side. “What you goin’ to do now?” he asked. “I have just thought of something that ought to be attended to,” was Floyd’s answer. “Is Mel Jones still down there?” “Yes; I see ’im now through the left-hand window,” said Pole. “Do you want to see ’im?” “Yes.” Floyd moved in the direction indicated and Pole wonderingly followed. Outside on the pavement at the corner of the store Mel Jones stood talking to a group of eager listeners. He stopped when he saw Floyd, and looked in the opposite direction, but in a calm voice the young merchant called him. “Mel, may I see you a minute?” “Certainly.” The face of the gaunt farmer fell as he came forward, his eyes shifting uneasily. “I got a message from Jeff Wade just now,” said Floyd. “Oh, did you? Is that so?” the fellow exclaimed. “Yes; he says he has a private matter to settle with me, and says he’ll be here at the store at twelve. Now, as you see, there are a good many people standing around—women and children, and somebody might get hurt or frightened. You know where Price’s spring is, down behind the old brick yard?”