re for detail, Jim drew a picture of the big mansion with its wide lawns, flower gardens and tree bordered walks; with its wealth of culture, its servants, and distinguished guests; for, said he

that--that your mother and me thought we could do better in Texas; so we went," Jim was again sketching broadly."Your mother left us there, girl. Seemed like she couldn't stand it, bein' away from the hills or somethin', and she just give up. I never did rightly know how it was. We buried her out there, way out on the big plains.""I remember her a little," whispered Sammy. Jim continued; "Then after a time you and me come back to the old place. Your mother named you Samantha, girl, but bein' as there wasn't no boy, I always called you Sammy. It seems right enough that way now, for you've sure been more'n a son to me since we've been alone; and that's one reason why I learned you to ride and shoot with the best of them."There's them that says I ain't done right by you, bringing you up without ary woman about the place; and I don't know as I have, but somehow I couldn't never think of no woman as I ought, after living with your mother. And then there was Aunt Mollie to learn you how to cook and do things about the house. I counted a good bit, too, on the old stock, and it sure showed up right. You're like the old folks, girl, in the way you think, but you're like your mother in the way you look."Sammy's arms went around her father's neck, "You're a good man, Daddy Jim; the best Daddy a girl ever had; and if I ain't all bad, it's on account of you." There was a queer look on the man's dark face. He had sketched some parts of his tale with a broad hand, indeed.The girl raised her head again; "But, Daddy, I wish you'd do something for me. I--I don't like Wash Gibbs to be a comin' here. I wish you'd quit ridin' with him, Daddy. I'm--I'm afeared of him; he looks at me so. He's a sure bad one--I know he is, Daddy."Jim laughed and again there was that odd m