this side of the Zumbro? The driver had told him about that, so it
couldn't have been another of Bill Jordan's jokes. Whitey looked back,
and saw a line of hills, and realized that the ranch lay behind them,
and that he had passed it. And sorrowfully he retraced his steps.

They say that the last mile of a long walk is the worst, and it
certainly proved so in this case, for it was dark when Whitey turned off
into a side road and the lights of Cal Smith's ranch house met his view.

There may have been more welcome sights to Whitey than the yellow gleams
of those window lights, but he could not remember them, as he limped
toward the house. Even the sharp barking of a dog, that was stilled by a
call from an opening door, sounded good to him. And when he was in the
house, where he was welcomed by big, genial Cal Smith, and seated at a
table in the kitchen, devouring ham and eggs and home-made bread and
pie, and drinking hot coffee, provided by good-natured, motherly Mrs.
Cal--why, it was almost worth the tramp to meet such a reception at the
end of it.

And friendly and hospitable as were Mr. and Mrs. Cal, there were other
and greater attractions in that household for Whitey. There were five
young Smiths,--five boys, three older and two younger than, Whitey,--and
not a girl in sight. In that company Whitey forgot all about being
tired. A new boy, that knew stories, was meat and drink to them--and
five boys, that knew stories that were new to Whitey, were meat and
drink to him.

Their sleeping quarters were the garret, and while a lantern swung from
a beam, and Mr. and Mrs. Cal were asleep, and the boys were supposed to
be asleep, those kids just wrote and rewrote a history of the West that