the cold light of the sun. For winter had the Bar O in its grip. And
though winter was no gentle thing in Montana, there was a tingle in the
cold, sharp air that made a boy want to whoop and to get on his
snowshoes and go after rabbits, which wise old Nature had also turned
white, so that they could blend in with the color of the landscape and
the better avoid their enemies. Not that Injun ever whooped; he never
did. His people always had reserved that form of expression for warlike
purposes.

There were many things the boys could do in winter, but these were
forgotten for a time by Whitey, for a great event was about to take
place. His father was to return to the ranch from New York, stopping
over at St. Paul, on his way, to buy supplies. And as the snow was not
too deep for sleighing, Whitey drove down to the Junction, with Bill
Jordan, to meet Mr. Sherwood. And outside Whitey was all wrapped up in a
buffalo coat, and inside he was so warm with excitement that the coat
seemed hardly necessary.

Now, of course, Whitey was awfully glad to see his father, and to hear
the news about his mother and sisters, and about Tom Johnson, and George
and Bobby Smith, and others of his boy friends. But after he had heard
all this there was another thing that naturally came to his mind. Mr.
Sherwood would not come back to the ranch without bringing Whitey some
sort of present, and his father was singularly silent about what this
was. In fact, he had not said anything about it at all. And it was after
supper, and Mr. Sherwood was unpacking his trunk, when he rather
carelessly said, "Oh, here's something I brought for you," and gave
Whitey a parcel.

Whitey thanked his father, and undid the parcel, and he dropped the