"H'm!" the old fire-eater snorted. "I'd be obliged just the same, Mr.
Weaver, if you'd transact your business and then light a shuck."

"Dad!" the girl begged.

He patted her head awkwardly as it lay on his arm. "Now don't you worry,
honey. There ain't going to be any trouble--leastways none of my making.
I ain't a-forgettin' my promise to you-all. But I ain't sittin' down
whilst anybody tromples on me neither."

"He wouldn't try to do that here," Phyllis reminded him.

Weaver laughed in grim irony. "I'm surely much obliged to you for
protecting me." And to the father he added carelessly: "Keep your shirt
on, Sanderson. I'm not trying to break into society. And when I do I
reckon it won't be with a sheep outfit I'll trail."

With which parting shot he turned on his heel, arrogant and imperious to
the last virile inch of him.




CHAPTER II

THE NESTER


With the jingle of trailing spur Buck Weaver passed from the post-office