much value--not even life. He was more
careful of Dill's belongings, and packed everything he could find that
was his. They were not scattered, for Dill was a methodical man and
kept things in their places instinctively.

He paused over but one object--"The Essays of Elia," which had somehow
fallen behind a trunk. Standing there in the middle of Dill's room, he
turned the little blue book absently in his hand. There was dust upon
the other side, and he wiped it off, manlike, with a sweep of his
forearm. He looked at the trunk; he had just locked it with much
straining of muscles and he hated to open it again. He looked at the
book again. He seemed to see Dill slumped loosely down in the old
rocker, a slippered foot dangling before him, reading solemnly from
this same little blue book, the day he came to tell him about the
ditch, and that he must lease all the land he could--the day when the
shadow of passing first touched the range-land. At least, the day when
he had first seen it there. He turned a few leaves thoughtfully, heard
Flora's voice asking a question in the kitchen, and thrust the book
hastily into his pocket. "Dilly'll want it, I expect," he muttered. He
glanced quickly, comprehensively around him to make sure that he
had missed nothing, turned toward the open front door and went out
hurriedly, because he thought he heard a woman's step in the dining
room and he did not want to see anybody, not even Flora--least of all,
Flora!

"I'll send a rig out from town for the stuff that's ours," he called
back to Bridger, who came to the kitchen door and called after
him that he better wait and have some supper. "You'll be here till
to-morrow or next day; it ain't likely I'll be back; yuh say Dill
settled up with the--women, so--there's nothing left to do."

If he had known--but how could he know that Flora was watching him
wistfully from the front porch, when he never once looked toward the
house after he reached the stable?

CHAPTER XXII.

_Settled In Full_.

On a lonely part of the trail to town--queerly, it was when he was
rounding the low, barren hill where he and Dill had first met--he took
out his brand-book and went over the situation. It was Barney he rode,
and Barney could be trusted to pace along decorously with the reins
twisted twice around the saddle-horn, so Billy gave no thought to his
horse but put his whole mind on the figures. He was not much used
to these things; beyond keeping tall