Ain't y'u an Injun, Jean Isbel? Ain't y'u a hoss tracker thet
rustlers cain't fool? Ain't y'u a plumb dead shot? Ain't y'u wuss'ern
a grizzly bear in a rough-an'-tumble? ... Now ain't y'u, shore?"

Jean bade the flattering lad a rather sober good day and rode on his
way. Manifestly a reputation somewhat difficult to live up to had
preceded his entry into Grass Valley.

Jean's first sight of his future home thrilled him through. It was a
big, low, rambling log structure standing well out from a wooded knoll
at the edge of the valley. Corrals and barns and sheds lay off at the
back. To the fore stretched broad pastures where numberless cattle and
horses grazed. At sunset the scene was one of rich color. Prosperity
and abundance and peace seemed attendant upon that ranch; lusty voices
of burros braying and cows bawling seemed welcoming Jean. A hound
bayed. The first cool touch of wind fanned Jean's cheek and brought a
fragrance of wood smoke and frying ham.

Horses in the Pasture romped to the fence and whistled at these
newcomers. Jean espied a white-faced black horse that gladdened his
sight. "Hello, Whiteface! I'll sure straddle you," called Jean. Then
up the gentle slope he saw the tall figure of his father--the same as
he had seen him thousands of times, bareheaded, shirt sleeved, striding
with long step. Jean waved and called to him.

"Hi, You Prodigal!" came the answer. Yes, the voice of his father--and
Jean's boyhood memories flashed. He hurried his horse those last few
rods. No--dad was not the same. His hair shone gray.

"Here I am, dad," called Jean, and then he was dismounting. A deep,
quiet emotion settled over him, stilling the hurry, the eagerness, the
pang in his breast.

"Son, I shore am glad to see you," said his father, and wrung his hand.
"Wal, wal, the size of you! Shore you've grown, any how you favor your
mother."

Jean felt in the iron clasp of hand, in the uplifting of the handsome
head, in the strong, fine light of piercing eyes that there was no
difference in the spirit of his father. But the old smile could not
hide lines and shades strange to Jean.

"Dad, I'm as glad as you," replied Jean, heartily. "It seems long
we've been parted, now I see you. Are You well, dad, an' all right?"

"Not complainin', son. I can ride all day same as ever," he said.
"Come. Never mind your hosses. They'll be looked after. Come meet the
folks.... Wal, wal, you got heah at last."