the--habit--" Then he went slack and a man swearing to hide
his pity picked him up in his arms and carried him into the
tent.


CHAPTER SIX: THE YOUNG EAGLE MUST FLY

"You're of age," said Bob Birnie, sucking hard at his pipe.
"You've had your schooling as your mother wished that you
should have it. You've got the music in your head and your
fingers and your toes, and that's as your mother wished that
you should have.

"Your mother would have you be all for music, and make tunes
out of your own head. She tells me that you have made tunes
and written them down on paper, and that there are those who
would buy them and print copies to sell, with your name at
the top of the page. I'll not say what I think of that--your
mother is an angel among women, and she has taught you the
things she loves herself.

"But my business is with the cattle, and I've had you out
with me since you could climb on the back of a horse. I've
watched you, with the rope and the irons and in the saddle
and all. You've been in tight places that would try the
mettle of a man grown--I mind the time ye escaped Colorou's
band, and we thought ye dead 'til ye came to us in Laramie.
You've showed that you're able to hold your own on the range,
lad. Your mother's all for the music--but I leave it to you.