circumstance, so far, to what dad must have been in his youth. At my
worst, I'd never shot a man.




CHAPTER III.

The Quarrel Renewed.


That night, by a close scratch, we made a little place Frosty said was one
of the Bay State line-camps. I didn't know what a line-camp was, and it
wasn't much for style, but it looked good to me, after riding nearly all
day in a snow-storm. Frosty cooked dinner and I made the coffee, and we
didn't have such a bad time of it, although the storm held us there for
two days.

We sat by the little cook-stove and told yarns, and I pumped Frosty just
about dry of all he'd ever heard about dad.

I hadn't intended to write to dad, but, after hearing all I did, I
couldn't help handing out a gentle hint that I was on. When I'd been at
the Bay State Ranch for a week, I wrote him a letter that, I felt, squared
my account with him. It was so short that I can repeat every word now.
I said:

DEAR DAD: I am here. Though you sent me out here to reform me, I
find the opportunities for unadulterated deviltry away ahead of
Frisco. I saw our old neighbor, King, whom you may possibly