matter. The debt I owe you will never be paid, but I'm going
to make you glad I know there's a debt. I believe there's a God, because
I know there must have been one to make you! And no matter how far away
I may drift in miles, your Buddy is going to be here with you always,
mother, learning from you all there is of goodness and sweetness." He
held her two hands against his face, and she felt his cheeks wet beneath
her palms. Then he took them away and kissed them many times, like a
lover.

"If I ever have a wife, she's going to have her work cut out for her,"
He laughed unsteadily. "She'll have to live up to you, mother, if she
wants me to love her."

"If you have a wife she'll be well-spoiled, young man! Perhaps it is
wise that you should go--but don't you forget your music, Buddy--and be
a good boy, and remember, mother's going to follow you with her love and
her faith in you, and her prayers."

It may have been that Buddy's baby memory of going north whenever the
trail herd started remained to send Bud instinctively northward when he
left the Tomahawk next morning. It had been a case of stubborn father
and stubborn son dickering politely over the net earnings of the son
from the time when he was old enough to leave his mother's lap and climb
into a saddle to ride with his father. Three horses and his personal
belongings had been agreed upon between them as the balance in Bud's
favor; and at that, Bob Birnie dryly remarked, he had been a better
investment as a son than most young fellows, who cost more than they
were worth to raise.

Bud did not answer the implied praise, but roped the Tomahawk's best
three horses out of the REMUDA corralled for him by his father's riders.
You should have seen the sidelong glances among the boys when they
learned that Bud, just home from the University, was going somewhere
with all his earthly possessions and a look in his face that meant
trouble!

Two big valises and his blankets he packed on Sunfish, a deceptively
raw-boned young buckskin with much white showing in his eyes--an ornery
looking brute if ever there was one. Bud's guitar and a mandolin in
their cases he tied securely on top of the pack. Smoky, the second
horse, a deep-chested "mouse" with a face almost human in its
expression, he saddled, and put a lead rope on the third, a bay
four-year-old called Stopper, which was the Tomahawk's best rope-horse
and one that would be missed when fast work was wanted in branding