“Ben hit him square in the eye. Oh, what a soak! Setter’d have fallen a mile but for the fence. He throwed his gun. But Ben grabbed it—shoved it up as it went off. If he hadn’t been quick as lightnin’ he’d have been bored. They fought an’ Ben got the gun. I thought he’d kill Setter, but he throwed the gun away. An’ then he gave Setter the damnedest beatin’ I ever seen any man git. It took us an hour to fetch him to an’ we’ve been all afternoon packin’ him back here…. That’s all, sir, an’ the boys will tell you I gave it straight.”

Old Blaine did not glance at Sneed’s comrades for corroboration of the story.

“Ahuh! … Wal, Bill, I’ll take it as a favor if you’ll change your mind about quittin’ me,” he said.

“Thank you, sir. I’ll sleep on it,” replied Sneed, soberly.

Ina dismounted and followed her father into his office. He did not appear upset.

“Wal, daughter, reckon supper’s not ready, an’ I’ll just have time to lick Marvie.”

“Oh, Dad, don’t whip the boy. Consider how wildly excited he was. He saw that fight.”

“Humph! You look pretty wild yourself,” returned her father, shrewdly. “Reckon I shouldn’t have let you stay to hear that yarn. Marvie wanted you to hear it, didn’t he?”

“Yes, he did,” confessed Ina.

“Wal, I’ll lick him for that, too. I’ll lock up now…. Come on, daughter. What’s on your mind, that you stand there sort of queer?”

“There’s a good deal, Dad, and I must confess it isn’t worry over Marvie,” said Ina. “Haven’t you been made thoughtful?”

“What about?” he drawled as he locked the door.

Ina led Marvie’s pony and walked beside her father toward the camp. On her own account Ina wanted much to be alone to dwell on Sneed’s story, to thrill and gloat over Ben Ide’s repudiation of a slur upon his honesty. But likewise she was intensely curious to find out what her father thought.

“About the way Setter approached Ben Ide,” she replied.

“Wal, I don’t see nothin’ there to make me thoughtful.”

“Then about the way Ben whipped him?”

“Nope. All I think about that is Setter deserved it good an’ plenty,” he returned, somewhat grimly.

“Oh, Dad!” Ina had to bite her lips to restrain impulsive and perhaps self–betraying utterance. “Then—doesn’t it make you thoughtful—the way Setter lied?”

“Lass, I’m afraid to think,” said Blaine, bluntly. “I’m up to my neck in deals with Setter. He has my paper for thousands. I can’t back out. I must go on … Now about the fight I’ll say this. I knowed there’d be one. I advised Setter. What surprises me an’ does make me thoughtful is that Ben Ide didn’t kill him.”

“Dad, I think I know why,” murmured Ina, and then she fled to hide her face.

From the safe sanctity of her tent she heard Marvie’s shrill voice in protest:

“Dad, what’re you lickin’ me for?”