XXVI. The Sins of the Fathers
XXVII. The Quicksands
XXVIII. Pat Ryan Evens an Old Score
XXIX. A New Leaf




The Sheriff's Son

Foreword

Through the mesquite a horse moved deviously, following the crooked
trail of least resistance. A man was in the saddle and in front of him
a little boy nodding with sleep. The arm of the rider cradled the
youngster against the lurches of the pony's gait.

The owner of the arm looked down at the tired little bundle it was
supporting. A wistful tenderness was in the leathery face. To the
rest of the world he was a man of iron. To this wee bit of humanity he
was a nurse, a playmate, a slave.

"We're 'most to the creek now, son. Onc't we get there, we'll throw
off and camp. You can eat a snack and tumble right off to bye-low
land," he promised.

The five-year-old smiled faintly and snuggled closer. His long lashes
drooped again to the soft cheeks. With the innocent selfishness of a
child he accepted the love that sheltered him from all troubles.