ily of which all living members were there present. Jean grasped
that this fact was one of significant satisfaction to his father.

"Shore we're all goin' to live together heah," he declared. "I started
this range. I call most of this valley mine. We'll run up a cabin for
Ann soon as she says the word. An' you, Jean, where's your girl? I
shore told you to fetch her."

"Dad, I didn't have one," replied Jean.

"Wal, I wish you had," returned the rancher. "You'll go courtin' one
of these Tonto hussies that I might object to."

"Why, father, there's not a girl in the valley Jean would look twice
at," interposed Ann Isbel, with spirit.

Jean laughed the matter aside, but he had an uneasy memory. Aunt Mary
averred, after the manner of relatives, that Jean would play havoc
among the women of the settlement. And Jean retorted that at least one
member of the Isbels; should hold out against folly and fight and love
and marriage, the agents which had reduced the family to these few
present. "I'll be the last Isbel to go under," he concluded.

"Son, you're talkin' wisdom," said his father. "An' shore that reminds
me of the uncle you're named after. Jean Isbel! ... Wal, he was my
youngest brother an' shore a fire-eater. Our mother was a French
creole from Louisiana, an' Jean must have inherited some of his
fightin' nature from her. When the war of the rebellion started Jean
an' I enlisted. I was crippled before we ever got to the front. But
Jean went through three Years before he was killed. His company had
orders to fight to the last man. An' Jean fought an' lived long enough
just to be that last man."

At length Jean was left alone with his father.

"Reckon you're used to bunkin' outdoors?" queried the rancher, rather
abruptly.

"Most of the time," replied Jean.

"Wal, there's room in the house, but I want you to sleep out. Come get
your beddin' an' gun. I'll show you."

They went outside on the porch, where Jean shouldered his roll of
tarpaulin and blankets. His rifle, in its saddle sheath, leaned
against the door. His father took it up and, half pulling it out,
looked at it by the starlight. "Forty-four, eh? Wal, wal, there's
shore no better, if a man can hold straight." At the moment a big gray
dog trotted up to sniff at Jean. "An' heah's your bunkmate, Shepp.
He's part lofer, Jean. His mother was a favorite shepherd dog of mine.
His father was a big timber wolf that took us two years to kill