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Mrs. Sproul glanced at her mother triumphantly.

“I told you Sandy talked up to him, mother. Oh, I do wish you’d ‘a’ wore your uniform, Sandy; then you could ‘a’ rose up before him proudly, an’ told ‘im you’d fought the battles of your country before”–

“Oh, shucks, Minervy!” interrupted the old woman dejectedly; “what does Nate Forrester care for anybody’s country? What else’d he say, Lysander?”

“He said–well”–the man hesitated, and hitched his high shoulders a trifle uneasily–“he swore he hated to do business with a woman.”

Spots of a deep, coppery red glowed through the tan of the old woman’s cheeks.

“He said that, did ‘e, Lysander Sproul? Then he must ‘a’ found some woman hard to cheat. Nate Forrester don’t hate to do business with nobody he can cheat. The next time you see ‘im, tell ‘im it’s mut’chal.”

“I told ‘im that,” answered Lysander grimly. “I told ‘im he didn’t hate to do business with the hull female sect no worse than this partikiler woman hated to do business with him; but I reckoned you wouldn’t bother ‘im if he wanted to go to work on the canon,–that’d be onreasonable.”

“He hain’t no notion o’ doin’ that,” asserted the old woman contemptuously. “Ketch him improvin’ anybody else’s water right. We’re nothin’ to him but sticks to boil his pot. What’s he up to now?”

“Well,” rejoined Lysander skeptically, “he said he wanted to divide that upper volunteer barley-patch into ten-acre lots and put it onto the market. An’ he b’lieved he could double the water right by tunnelin’.”

“Why don’t he tunnel away, then? Nobody’s a-carin’,” demanded the old woman shrilly.

“That’s what I told ‘im; and he ‘lowed, of course, he wasn’t a-goin’ to put money into another feller’s water right. An’ then he figured away, showin’ me how it’d increase the value o’ this piece o’ property; an’ I told ‘im this property was ‘way up now,”–Lysander sneered audibly,–“consider’ble higher ‘n most folks wanted to go; an’ then he went to blowin’ about it, braggin’ up the ranch, an’ tellin’ what a big thing he done when he give it to you”–

The old woman broke in upon him fiercely.

“Did he say that, Lysander?” She turned, and bent upon her son-in-law a quick, wrathful glance from under her shaggy brows; the muscles of her weather-beaten face twitched nervously. “I’d ‘a’ give my right hand to ‘a’ heerd ‘im. I’d like to have Colonel Nate Forrester try to say anything to me about givin’ anybody this ranch.” She measured her words bitingly. “I s’pose when a feller puts his pistol at yer head, and tells you to hold up yer hands, and goes through yer pockets, if he happens to overlook a ten-cent piece he gives ye that much, does ‘e? That’s the way Colonel Nate Forrester give me this ranch. Loss Anjelus County hadn’t heerd o’ him when I settled onto this claim, and it ain’t heerd no good of ‘im sence.”

The old woman’s harsh, discordant voice rose higher with her wrath. The baby stirred uneasily in his father’s arms. Even Melissa raised her eyes,–Melissa, who sat on the lowest step of the projecting staircase, twisting and untwisting the faded blue silk handkerchief in her lap with a gentle, listless monotony. It was impossible to tell whether ignorance or indifference characterized the girl, so calm, so inert, so absent was she, sitting in the half-shadow of the dimly lighted corner, her lustrous auburn head outlined against the sombre-hued redwood of the wall behind her.

There was a little hush in the room after the tempest.

“No, that’s a fact,–that’s a fact. Well–then–you see–” continued Lysander, groping for his forgotten place in the recital. “Oh, yes,–I got up and told ‘im ‘Addyoce,’ as if I s’posed he was through, and started off; an’ he called me back, an’ ‘lowed mebbe the old folks didn’t have much loose change lyin’ ’round to put into water improvements; an’ I told ‘im I didn’t know,–I reckoned you could mortgage the ranch. From the way he talked, he’d make you a handsome loan on it, and jump at the chance; an’ after he’d hummed and hawed a while, he offered to give you a clear title to Flutterwheel Spring if you’d deed ‘im your int’rest in the rest o’ the canon. I told ‘im it wasn’t my funeral. I’d tell you what he said, an’ you could do as you pleased.”