you climb that ridge. But it's so stony I generally go along the creek
bank where I can gallop.... What? Why, of course you're going with
me. Jane would never forgive me if I didn't bring you. And what would
Chuck say if you came this far and then didn't go on down to his
house? Don't you suppose he enjoys seeing his old friends? It was only
last week I heard him wonder to Father if you were ever coming back to
this country. How did you like it up at the Bend?"

"Right fine," he told her, settling himself comfortably in the chair
she had indicated. "But a feller gets tired of one place after a
while. I thought maybe I'd come back to the Lazy River and get a job
ridin' the range again."

"Aren't there any ranches round the Bend?" she asked, poking up the
fire and setting on the coffee-pot.

"Plenty, but I--I like the Lazy River country," he told her. "Fort
Creek country for yores truly, now and hereafter."

In this fashion did the proposed journey to Arizona go glimmering. His
eye lingered on the banjo where it lay on the table.

"Can you play it?" she asked, her eye following his.

"Some," said he. "Want to hear a camp-meeting song?"

She nodded. He rose and picked up the banjo. He placed a foot on the
chair seat, slid the banjo to rest on his thigh, swept the strings,
and broke into "Inchin' Along". Which ditty made her laugh. For it is
a funny song, and he sang it well.