"You bet your life he didn't. An' that's another thing that gets
me. Who's God anyway? If he's runnin' things--an' what good is he
if he ain't?--then why does he let my boss, an' men like that
cashier you mentioned, why does he let them own the horses, an'
buy the women, the nice little girls that oughta be lovin' their
own husbands, an' havin' children they're not ashamed of, an'
just bein' happy accordin' to their nature?"



CHAPTER XI

The horses, resting frequently and lathered by the work, had
climbed the steep grade of the old road to Moraga Valley, and on
the divide of the Contra Costa hills the way descended sharply
through the green and sunny stillness of Redwood Canyon.

"Say, ain't it swell?" Billy queried, with a wave of his hand
indicating the circled tree-groups, the trickle of unseen water,
and the summer hum of bees.

"I love it"' Saxon affirmed. "It makes me want to live in the
country, and I never have."

"Me, too, Saxon. I've never lived in the country in my life--an'
all my folks was country folks."

"No cities then. Everybody lived in the country."