under Tim Sullivan. He was dependent on the flockmaster for his
clothing and keep, even tobacco and papers for his cigarettes. If he
knew anything about the arrangement between his father and Sullivan in
regard to Joan, he did not mention it. That he knew it, Mackenzie
fully believed, for Tim Sullivan was not the man to keep the reward
sequestered.

Whether Reid looked toward Joan as adequate compensation for three
years' exile in the sheeplands, there was no telling. Perhaps he did
not think much of her in comparison with the exotic plants of the
atmosphere he had left; more than likely there was a girl in the
background somewhere, around whom some of the old man's anxiety to
save the lad revolved. Mackenzie hoped to the deepest cranny of his
heart that it was so.

"He seems to get a good deal of humor out of working here for his
board and tobacco," Mackenzie said.

"Yes, he blatters a good deal about it," said Dad. "'I'll take
another biscuit on Tim Sullivan,' he says, and 'here goes another
smoke on Tim.' I don't see where he's got any call to make a joke out
of eatin' another man's bread."

"Maybe he's never eaten any man's bread outside of the family before,
Dad."

"I reckon he wouldn't have to be doin' it now if he'd 'a' been decent.
Oh well, maybe he ain't so bad."

This day Dad was maneuvering around to unload the apprentice on
Mackenzie for good. He worked up to it gradually, as if feeling his
way with his good foot ahead, careful not to be too sudden and plunge
into a hole.

"I don't like a feller around that talks so much," Dad complained.
"When he's around a man ain't got no time to think and plan and lay
his projec's for what he's a goin' to do. All I can do to put a word
in edgeways once in a while."

It appeared plain enough that Dad's sore spot was this very inability
to land as many words as he thought he had a right to. That is the
complaint of any talkative person. If you are a good listener, with a
_yes_ and a _no_ now and then, a talkative man will tell your friends
you are the most interesting conversationalist he ever met.

"I don't mind him," Mackenzie said, knowing very well that Dad would
soon be so hungry for somebody to unload his words upon that he would
be talking to the sheep. "Ship him over to me when you're tired of
him; I'll work some of the wind out of him inside of a week."

"I'll send him this evenin'," said Dad, eager in his relief,
brightening like an uncovered coal.