With shining eyes, Saxon extended her hand to his, and gravely
they shook.

"Isn't it wonderful?" she murmured. "We're both old American
stock. And if you aren't a Saxon there never was one--your hair,
your eyes, your skin, everything. And you're a fighter, too."

"I guess all our old folks was fighters when it comes to that. It
come natural to 'em, an' dog-gone it, they just had to fight or
they'd never come through."

"What are you two talkin' about?" Mary broke in upon them.

"They're thicker'n mush in no time," Bert girded. "You'd think
they'd known each other a week already."

"Oh, we knew each other longer than that," Saxon returned.
"Before ever we were born our folks were walkin' across the
plains together."

"When your folks was waitin' for the railroad to be built an' all
the Indians killed off before they dasted to start for
California," was Billy's way of proclaiming the new alliance.
"We're the real goods, Saxon an'n me, if anybody should ride up on
a buzz-wagon an' ask you."

"Oh, I don't know," Mary boasted with quiet petulance. "My father
stayed behind to fight in the Civil War. He was a drummer-boy.
That's why he didn't come to California until afterward."