it was incumbent upon him to explain himself. He had been a handsome
man, of the dashing cavalry type and he still bore traces of past glory.
In his worst moments he never swore before ladies, and in his best he
remembered what was due them and upheld their honour and position with
fervour.

"Lil' Nella-Rose," he was saying as Marg paused outside the door in the
dark, "why don't you marry Burke Lawson and settle down here with me?"

"He hasn't asked me, father."

"He isn't in any position now to pick and choose"--this between
hiccoughs and yawns--"I saw him early this morning; I know his back
anywhere. I'd just met old Jim White. I reckon Burke was calculating to
shoot Jim, but my coming upset his plans. Shooting a sheriff ain't safe
business." What Greyson really had seen was Truedale's retreat after
parting company with Jim, but not knowing of Truedale's existence he
jumped to the conclusion which to his fuddled wits seemed probable, and
had so informed Marg upon his return.

"I tell yo', Nella-Rose," he ran on, "yo' better marry Burke and tame
him. There ain't nothing as tames a man like layin' responsibilities on
him."

"Come, father, let me help you to the table. I don't want to talk about
Burke. I don't believe he's back." She steadied the rolling form to the
head of the table.

"I tell yo', chile, I saw Burke's back; don't yo' reckon I know Lawson
when I see him, back or front? Don't yo' want ter marry Lawson,