Daylight could not persuade himself to keep to the travelled roads that
day, and another cut across country to Glen Ellen brought him upon a
canon that so blocked his way that he was glad to follow a friendly
cow-path. This led him to a small frame cabin. The doors and windows
were open, and a cat was nursing a litter of kittens in the doorway,
but no one seemed at home. He descended the trail that evidently
crossed the canon. Part way down, he met an old man coming up through
the sunset. In his hand he carried a pail of foamy milk. He wore no
hat, and in his face, framed with snow-white hair and beard, was the
ruddy glow and content of the passing summer day. Daylight thought
that he had never seen so contented-looking a being.

"How old are you, daddy?" he queried.

"Eighty-four," was the reply. "Yes, sirree, eighty-four, and spryer
than most."

"You must a' taken good care of yourself," Daylight suggested.

"I don't know about that. I ain't loafed none. I walked across the
Plains with an ox-team and fit Injuns in '51, and I was a family man
then with seven youngsters. I reckon I was as old then as you are now,
or pretty nigh on to it."

"Don't you find it lonely here?"

The old man shifted the pail of milk and reflected. "That all
depends," he said oracularly. "I ain't never been lonely except when
the old wife died. Some fellers are lonely in a crowd, and I'm one of
them. That's the only time I'm lonely, is when I go to 'Frisco. But I
don't go no more, thank you 'most to death. This is good enough for me.
I've ben right here in this valley since '54--one of the first settlers
after the Spaniards."

Daylight started his horse, saying:--

"Well, good night, daddy. Stick with it. You got all the young bloods
skinned, and I guess you've sure buried a mighty sight of them."

The old man chuckled, and Daylight rode on, singularly at peace with
himself and all the world. It seemed that the old contentment of trail
and camp he had known on the Yukon had come back to him. He could not
shake from his eyes the picture of the old pioneer coming up the trail
through the sunset light. He was certainly going some for eighty-four.
The thought of following his example entered Daylight's mind, but the
big game of San Francisco vetoed the idea.

"Well, anyway," he decided, "when I get old and quit the game, I'll
settle down in a place something like this, and the city can go to
hell."

CHAPTER