listened and so talked on. "I
must work up a big case of sunburn before I strike Mr. Pratt for a job.
Did he have extra horses?"

"'Bout a dozen. His girl was driving the cattle, but he said----"

"Girl? What kind of a girl?"

"Oh, a kind of a tomboy, freckled--chews gum and says 'darn it!' That
kind of a girl."

Harold's face darkened. "I don't like the idea of that girl. She might
have heard something, and then it would go hard with me."

"Don't you worry. The Pratts ain't the kind of people that read
newspapers; they didn't stop here but a day, anyhow."

The sight of Mr. Burns and his wife at the gate moved Harold deeply.
Mrs. Burns came hurrying out: "You blessed boy! Get right down and let
me hug you," and as he leaped down she put her arms around him as if he
were her own son, and Harold's eyes smarted with tears.

"I declare," said Mr. Burns, "you look like a fightin' cock; must feed
you well down there?"

No note of doubt, hesitation, concealment, or shame was in their
greetings and the boy knew it. They all sat around the kitchen, and
chatted and laughed as if no ill thing had ever happened to him. Burns
uttered the only doubtful word when he said: "I don't know about this
running away from things here. I'd be inclined to stay here and fight it
out."

"But it isn't running away, Dad," said Jack. "Harry has always wanted to
go West and now is the first time he has really had the chance."

"That's so," admitted the father. "Still, I'm sorry to see him look like
he was running away."

Mrs. Burns was determined to feed Harry into complete torpor. She put up
enough food in a basket to last him to San Francisco at the shortest.
Even when the boys had entered the buggy she ordered them to wait while
she brought out some sweet melon pickles in a jar to add to the
collection.

"Well, now, good-by," said Harold, reaching down his hand to Mrs.
Burns, who seized it in both hers.

"You poor thing, don't let the Indians scalp ye."

"No danger o' that," he called back.

"Be good to yourself," shouted Burns, and the buggy rolled through the
gate into the west as the red sun was setting and the prairie cocks were
crowing.

The boys talked their plans all over again while the strong young horse
spattered through the mud. Slowly the night fell, and as they rode under
the branches of the oaks, Jack took courage to say:

"I wish Miss Yardwell had been here, Harry."

"It's no use talking about her; she don't