"Yes--and Gila monsters and all kinds of critters."

"Gee! Has Aunt Jane got any of 'em on her ranch?"

Big Jim forced a smile. "I reckon so."

Little Jim's face was eager. "Then I say, let's go. Mebby I can get to
shoot one. Huntin' is more fun than workin' all the time. I guess ma got
tired of workin', too. She said that was all she ever expected to do,
'long as we lived out here on the ranch. But she never told _me_ she was
goin' to quit."

"She didn't tell me, either, Jimmy. But you wouldn't understand."

Jimmy puckered his forehead. "I guess ma kind of throwed us down, didn't
she, dad?"

"We'll have to forget about it," said Big Jim slowly. "Down at Aunt
Jane's place in--"

"Somethin' 's burnin', dad!"

Big Jim turned to the stove. Little Jim gazed at his father's back
critically. There was something in the stoop of the broad shoulders that
was unnatural, strange--something that caused Little Jim to hesitate in
his questioning. Little Jim idolized his father, and, with unfailing
intuition, believed in him to the last word. As for his mother, who had
left without explanation and would never return--Little Jim missed her,
but more through habit of association than with actual grief.