ent the memory seemed farther off than a few
hours. It had crystallized. It annoyed while it drew him. As a
result he slowly laid this package aside and did not speak as he had
intended to.
"Dad, I reckon I didn't fetch a lot for you an' the boys," continued
Jean. "Some knives, some pipes an' tobacco. An' sure the guns."
"Shore, you're a regular Santa Claus, Jean," replied his father. "Wal,
wal, look at the kids. An' look at Mary. An' for the land's sake look
at Ann! Wal, wal, I'm gettin' old. I'd forgotten the pretty stuff an'
gimcracks that mean so much to women. We're out of the world heah.
It's just as well you've lived apart from us, Jean, for comin' back
this way, with all that stuff, does us a lot of good. I cain't say,
son, how obliged I am. My mind has been set on the hard side of life.
An' it's shore good to forget--to see the smiles of the women an' the
joy of the kids."
At this juncture a tall young man entered the open door. He looked a
rider. All about him, even his face, except his eyes, seemed old, but
his eyes were young, fine, soft, and dark.
"How do, y'u-all!" he said, evenly.
Ann rose from her knees. Then Jean did not need to be told who this
newcomer was.
"Jean, this is my friend, Andrew Colmor."
Jean knew when he met Colmor's grip and the keen flash of his eyes that
he was glad Ann had set her heart upon one of their kind. And his
second impression was something akin to the one given him in the road
by the admiring lad. Colmor's estimate of him must have been a
monument built of Ann's eulogies. Jean's heart suffered misgivings.
Could he live up to the character that somehow had forestalled his
advent in Grass Valley? Surely life was measured differently here in
the Tonto Basin.
The children, bundling their treasures to their bosoms, were dragged
off to bed in some remote part of the house, from which their laughter
and voices came back with happy significance. Jean forthwith had an
interested audience. How eagerly these lonely pioneer people listened
to news of the outside world! Jean talked until he was hoarse. In
their turn his hearers told him much that had never found place in the
few and short letters he had received since he had been left in Oregon.
Not a word about sheepmen or any hint of rustlers! Jean marked the
omission and thought all the more seriously of probabilities because
nothing was said. Altogether the evening was a happy reunion of a
fam
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