, in his alert and manful attitude,
Little Jim was a pocket edition of his father.

"Where's your shootin'-iron?" queried Big Jim jokingly.

"Why, she's standin' in the corner, aside of yours. A man don't pack his
shootin'-iron in his bed-roll when he hits the trail. He keeps her
handy."

"For stingin' lizards, eh?"

"For 'most anything. Stingin' lizards, Injuns, or hoss-thieves, or
anything that we kin shoot. We ain't takin' no chances on this here
trip."

Big Jim gestured toward the table and pulled up his chair. Little Jim
was too heartily interested in the meal to notice that his father gazed
curiously at him from time to time. Until then, Big Jim had thought of
his small son as a chipper, sturdy, willing boy--his boy. But now,
Little Jim seemed suddenly to have become an actual companion, a
partner, a sharer in things as they were and were to be.

Hard work and inherent industry had developed in Little Jim an
independence that would have been considered precocious in the East. Big
Jim was glad that the mother's absence did not seem to affect the boy
much. Little Jim seemed quite philosophical about it. Yet, deep in his
heart, Little Jim missed his mother, more than his father realized. The
house seemed strangely empty and quiet. And it had seemed queer that Big
Jim should cook the supper, and, later, wash the dishes.

That evening, just before they went to bed, Big Jim ransacked the
bureau, sorting out his own things, and laying aside a few things that
his wife had left: a faded pink ribbon, an old pair of high-heeled
slippers, a torn and unmended apron, and an old gingham dress. Gathering
these things together, Big Jim stuffed them in the kitchen stove. Little
Jim watched him silently.

But when his father came from the stove and sat down, Little Jim slipped
over to him. "Dad, are you mad at ma for leavin' us?" he queried.

Big Jim shook his head. "No, Jimmy. Just didn't want to leave her things
around, after we had gone. Benson'll be movin' in sometime this week. I
sold our place to him."

"The stove and beds and everything?"

"Everything."

Little Jim wrinkled his nose and sniffed. "Them things you put in the
stove smell just like brandin' a critter," he said, gesturing toward the
kitchen.

Big Jim gazed hard at his young son. Then he smiled to himself, and
shook his head. "Just like brandin' a critter," he repeated, half to
himself. "Just like brandin' a critter."

CHAPTER II

PAN