Big Jim gazed hard at his young son. Then he smiled to himself, and
shook his head. "Just like brandin' a critter," he repeated, half to
himself. "Just like brandin' a critter."






CHAPTER II

PANHANDLE


While his friends and neighbors called Jim Hastings "Big Jim," he was no
more than average size--compact, vigorous, reared in the Wyoming cattle
lands, and typical of the country. He was called Big Jim simply to
distinguish him from Little Jim, who was as well known in Laramie as his
father. Little Jim, when but five years of age, rode his own pony,
jogging alongside his father when they went to town, where he was
decidedly popular with the townsfolk because of his sturdy independence
and humorous grin.

Little Jim talked horses and cattle and ranching with the grown-ups and
took their good-natured joshing philosophically. He seldom retorted
hastily, but, rather, blinked his eyes and wrinkled his forehead as he
digested this or that pleasantry, and either gave it the indifferent
acknowledgment of "Shucks! Think you can josh _me_?" or, if the occasion
and the remark seemed to call for more serious consideration, he rose to
it manfully, and often to the embarrassment of the initial speaker.