He laid a kindly hand on the boy's
shoulder.

"Go ahead and ask your questions, then," he directed, "and I'll answer
what I like and refuse to answer the rest. Is that a fair arrangement?"

The brown face glowed. "Thet's es fa'r es airy thing kin be," was the
eager response. "I hain't nuver seed nothin' but jest these hyar
hills--an' sometimes hit kinderly seems like ter me thet ef I kain't
light out an' see all ther balance, I'll jest plain swell up an' bust
with ther cravin'."

"You study history--and geography, don't you, Boone?"

"Huh-huh." The tousled head nodded. "But thar's a passel of thet book
stuff thet a man kain't believe nohow. Hit ain't _reasonable_."

"What books have you read?"

"Every single damn one thet I could git my hands on--but thet hain't
been no lavish plenty." With a manner of groping for some point of
contact with the outer world, he added, "I've got a cousin thet's in
ther army, though. He's in ther Philippines right now. Did you soldier
in ther Philippines?" Abruptly Boone broke off, and then hastily he
prompted as he raised a hand in a gesture of caution, "Don't answer thet
thar question ef ye hain't got a mind ter! I jest axed hit heedless-like
without studyin' what I war a'doin'."

McCalloway laughed aloud. "I'll answer it. No, I've never soldiered in
the Philippines nor anywhere under the American flag. My fighting has
all been with what you call the 'outlanders.'"

CHAPTER III

McCalloway's house had been chinked and sealed within a few weeks and
now he was living under its roof. Boone had been out there often, and
one day when he went on to Asa Gregory's cabin his mind was unsettled
with the ferment of conflicting standards. Heretofore Asa had been his
sole and sufficient hero. Now there were two, and it was dawning upon
him, with a travail of dilemma, that between the essentials of their
creeds lay an irreconcilable divergence.

As the boy reached his kinsman's doorstep in the lengthening shadows of
late afternoon, Asa's "woman" came out and hung a freshly scoured
dish-pan on a peg. In her cheeks bloomed a colour and maturity somewhat
too full-blown for her twenty years. Asa had married the "purtiest gal"
on five creeks, but the gipsy charm of her dark, provocative eyes would
die. Her lithe curves would flatten to angularity and the lustre fade
out of her hair's burnished masses with a few seasons of drudgery and
child-bearing.

"Howdy, Booney," she said in greet