ere--somewhere there beyond
the valley. Not because the youngster had any desire for the wealth
that was flowing into the greedy hands of the gold-seekers. It was
simply the thought of a man who knows far more of the world than he
cares to remember. He felt that in all honesty he should point out the
duties of a man to himself in these days when advancement alone
counts, and manhood, without worldly position, goes for so very
little. He was not quite sure that Buck didn't perfectly understand
these things for himself. He had such a wonderful understanding and
insight. However, his duty was plain, and it was not his way to shrink
from it.

Buck was sprinkling the earth floor preparatory to sweeping it when
the Padre let his eyes wander back into the room.

"Got things fixed?" he inquired casually.

"Mostly." Buck began to sweep with that practiced hand which never
raises a dust on an earthen floor.

The Padre watched his movements thoughtfully.

"Seems queer seeing you sweeping and doing chores like a--a hired
girl." He laughed presently.

Buck looked up and rested on his broom. He smilingly surveyed his
early benefactor and friend.

"What's worryin'?" he inquired in his direct fashion.

The Padre stirred uneasily. He knocked the ashes from his pipe and
pressed the glowing tobacco down with the head of a rusty nail.

"Oh, nothing worrying," he said, turning back to his survey of the
valley beyond the decaying stockade. "The sun'll be over the hilltops
in half an hour," he went on.

But the manner of his answer told Buck all he wanted to know. He too
glanced out beyond the valley.

"Yes," he ejaculated, and went on sweeping. A moment later he paused
again. "Guess I can't be out at the traps till noon. Mebbe you ken do
without me--till then?"

"Sure." The Padre nodded at the valley. Then he added: "I've been
thinking."

"'Bout that gold strike? 'Bout me? You bin thinkin' I ought to quit
the traps, an'--make good wi' them. I know."

The elder man turned back sharply and looked into the dark eyes with a
shrewd smile.

"You generally get what I'm thinking," he said.

"Guess you're not much of a riddle--to me," Buck laughed, drawing the
moist dust into a heap preparatory to picking it up.

The Padre laughed too.

"Maybe you know how I'm feeling about things, then? Y' see there's
nothing for you now but half the farm money. That's yours anyway. It
isn't a pile. Seems to me you ought to be--out there mak