for a stick-horse, and walked through the living room
and out upon the porch with the help of a cane and the solicitous arm
of the Little Doctor, and with the Kid galloping gleefully before him on
the crutch.

Later he discarded the help of somebody's arm, and hobbled down to the
corral with the cane, and with the Kid still galloping before him on
"Uncle Gee Gee's" crutch. He stood for some time leaning against the
corral watching some of the boys halter-breaking a horse that was later
to be sold--when he was "broke gentle"--and then he hobbled back again,
thankful for the soft comfort of his big chair.

That was well enough, as far as it went. The Flying U took it for
granted that the Old Man was slowly returning to the old order of life,
when rheumatism was his only foe and he could run things with his old
energy and easy good management. But there never came a day when the Old
Man gave his cane to the kid to play with. There never came a day when
he was not thankful for the soft comfort of his chair. There never came
a day when he was the same Old Man who joshed the boys and scolded them
and threatened them. The day was always coming--of course!--when his
back would quit aching if he walked to the stable and back without a
long rest between, but it never actually arrived.

So, imperceptibly but surely, the Old Man began to grow old. The thin
spot on top of his head grew shiny, so that the Kid noticed it and made
blunt comments upon the subject. His rheumatism was not his worst foe,
now. He had to pet his digestive apparatus and cut out strong coffee
with three heaping teaspoons of sugar in each cup, because the Little
Doctor told him his liver was torpid. He had to stop giving the Kid
jolty rides on his knees,--but that was because the Kid was getting too
big for baby play, the Old Man declared. The Kid was big enough to ride
real horses, now, and he ought to be ashamed to ride knee-horses any
more.

To two things the Old Man clung almost fiercely; the old regime of
ranging his cattle at large and starting out the wagons in the spring
just the same as if twenty-five men instead of twelve went with them;
and the retention of the Happy Family on his payroll, just as if they
were actually needed. If one of the boys left to try other things and
other fields, the Old Man considered him gone on a vacation and expected
him back when spring roundup approached.

True, he was seldom disappointed in that. For the Happy Fam