had ridden the range in every State where beef grows wild. He
was in the thickest of the huddle, was Bob, working as if he did
not know the meaning of fatigue. Thurston, watching him thread
his way in and out of the restless, milling herd, only to
reappear unexpectedly at the edge with a steer just before the
nose of his horse, rush it out from among the others--wheeling,
darting this way and that, as it tried to dodge back, and always
coming off victor, wondered if he could ever learn to do it.

Being in pessimistic mood, he told himself that he would
probably always remain a greenhorn, to be borne with and coached
and given boy's work to do; all because he had been cheated of
his legacy of the dim trails and forced to grow up in a city,
hedged about all his life by artificial conditions, his
conscience wedded to convention.



CHAPTER VI

THE BIG DIVIDE

The long drive was nearly over. Even Thurston's eyes brightened
when he saw, away upon the sky-line, the hills that squatted
behind the home ranch of the Lazy Eight. The past month had been
one of rapid living under new conditions, and at sight of them
it seemed only a few days since he had first glimpsed that
broken line of hills and the bachelor household in the coulee
below.