"Oh!" She turned and stepped to the veranda. "Dad, John is here."

David Loring came to the doorway and stood blinking at Corliss. He did
not speak.

"Mr. Loring, one of my men set Chance on a band of your sheep. My
foreman tells me that Chance killed a lamb. I want to pay for it."

Loring had expected something of the kind. "Mighty proud of it, I
reckon?"

"No, I'm not proud of it. I apologize--for the Concho."

"You say it easy."

"No, it isn't easy to say--to you. I'll pay the damage. How much?"

"Your dog, eh? Well, if you'll shoot the dam' dog the lamb won't cost
you a cent."

"No, I won't shoot the dog. He was put up to it. I fired the man that
set him on to the sheep."

"That's your business. But that don't square you with me."

"I'll settle, if you'll fix the price," said Corliss.

"You will, eh? Then, mebby you'd think you was square with ole man
Loring and come foolin' around here like that tramp brother of yours.
Fine doin's in Antelope, from what I hear."