indicating the chairs.

"Thank you--reckon the bunkhouse will be my quarters."

He spoke to the pony. Uncle Jepson spoke at the same instant, and Patches
halted:

"I cal'late you'd better wait here."

"If you insist," said Randerson. He swung off and walked to the edge of
the porch, grinning mildly at Uncle Jepson. The handclasp between them
was warm, for Uncle Jepson had been strongly attracted to this son of the
plains; and the twinkle in Randerson's eyes as his met Uncle Jepson's was
not to be mistaken.

"So Vickers has gone," said Randerson as he dropped into a chair. "He's a
mighty fine man."

"Willard wanted Chavis to have his job," whispered Uncle Jepson.

"You don't say!" Randerson's eyes gleamed. "An' Miss Ruth didn't want
him, I reckon." He caught Uncle Jepson's nod. "She's allowin' that she's
goin' to be boss. But of course she would," he added. He stood up, for
Aunt Martha had opened the door and was standing in it, looking at him.
He removed his hat and bowed to her, his eyes gleaming with something
near affection, for Aunt Martha had found a place in his heart. He
stepped forward, took her hand, and escorted her to the largest and most
comfortable of the rockers on the porch, and when she sat down she looked
up at him and smiled.

"I reckon you like it here?" he said gently to Aunt Martha.

"I like it very much. But there are differences--after Poughkeepsie. One
doesn't notice them so much at first."

"I expect you find it sort of rough here," he said, looking at her. "They
tell me that in the East folks live pretty close together--that there's
conveniences. There ain't a heap of conveniences here." He pronounced the
word slowly and laboriously. It was plain that he was trying to put on
his best manners.

"No--no conveniences," said Aunt Martha. "But it's a wonderful country,
my boy--wonderful!"

A pulse of something shot through him at the word, "boy."

"I'm glad you like it," he said gravely.

Aunt Martha folded her hands in her lap and looked long at him over the
rims of her glasses. There was interest in her eyes, and kindliness. For
she saw something in this figure of a new type that sat before
her--something that the two big guns, at his hips did not hint at--nor
his leather chaps, the cartridge belt, the broad hat, the spurs, the
high-heeled boots, the colored scarf at his throat. These things were the
badges of his calling, and were, of course, indispensable, but she saw
them no