It was of little use for me to remonstrate with Miss Sampson when she
refused to obey a distracted and angry father. I began to feel sorry for
Sampson. He was an unscrupulous man, but he loved this daughter who
belonged to another and better and past side of his life.

I heard him appeal to her to go back to Louisiana; to let him take her
home, giving as urgent reason the probability of trouble for him. She
could not help, could only handicap him.

She agreed to go, provided he sold his property, took the best of his
horses and went with her back to the old home to live there the rest of
their lives. He replied with considerable feeling that he wished he
could go, but it was impossible. Then that settled the matter for her,
she averred.

Failing to persuade her to leave Linrock, he told her to keep to the
ranch. Naturally, in spite of his anger, Miss Sampson refused to obey;
and she frankly told him that it was the free, unfettered life of the
country, the riding here and there that appealed so much to her.

Sampson came to me a little later and his worn face showed traces of
internal storm.

"Russ, for a while there I wanted to get rid of you," he said. "I've
changed. Diane always was a spoiled kid. Now she's a woman. Something's
fired her blood. Maybe it's this damned wild country. Anyway, she's got
the bit between her teeth. She'll run till she's run herself out.

"Now, it seems the safety of Diane, and Sally, too, has fallen into your
hands. The girls won't have one of my cowboys near them. Lately they've