Samuel continues to eye him quietly, his face betraying neither disappointment nor approval. Just steady, earnest interest.

At last, he speaks.

"All right," he nods, once, placing his glass on the table in front of him and leaning his elbows on his knees. "I believe you."

The 'this time' is implied.

"You understand my caution, don't you?" He gesticulates as he speaks. "Young man pulls in with a gun on his hip, and that scar under his eye. What I'd wager is a bullet hole clean through his hand. Talking about drivin' cattle out to New Orleans?"

He shakes his head, short and quick.

"Now, I know how it gets out there, sometimes. Life after the war was tough, and I've done things I'm not so proud of my own self. But I got a family here, needs protecting. That includes my men, and my livestock. If I got any reason not to toss you back off my property right now, in the name of my own self interests, well. I'd sure like you to speak up."

His voice never raises above a low, raspy murmur, the entire time he speaks. His voice is soft, tinged with that Southern politeness and European charm that ever-so-gently laces each word.

And the expression on his face is softly imploring Jay to speak truthfully with him, this time.