Little Jim asked no more questions. His father knew everything--why they
were going and where. Little Jim glanced back to where Smiler padded
along, his tongue out and his eyes already rimmed with dust, for he
would insist upon traveling tight to Lazy's heels.

Little Jim leaned back. "Stick it out, ole-timer! But don't you go to
cuttin' dad's trail till he gets kind of used to seein' you around.
Sabe?"

Smiler grinned through a dust-begrimed countenance. He wagged his tail.

Little Jim plunked his horse in the ribs and drew up beside his father.
Little Jim felt big and important riding beside his dad. There had been
some kind of trouble at home--and they were leaving it behind. It would
be a long trail, and his father sure would need help.

Little Jim drew a deep breath. He wanted to express his unwavering
loyalty to his father. He wanted to talk of his willingness to go
anywhere and share any kind of luck. But his resolve to speak evaporated
in a sigh of satisfaction. This was a real holiday, an adventure.
"Smiler's makin' it fine, dad."

But Big Jim did not seem to hear. He was gazing ahead, where in the
distance loomed an approaching figure on horseback. Little Jim knew who
it was, and was about to say so when his father checked him with a
gesture. Little Jim saw his father shift his belt round so that his gun
hung handy. He said nothing and showed by no other sign that he had
recognized the approaching rider, who came on swiftly, his high-headed
pinto fighting the bit.