long-pointed rower on his spur. The hardness at his lips
somehow spread to his eyes, that were bent on the whirring
rower. It was the look that had come into the face of the
baby down on the Staked Plains when Ezra called and called
after he had been answered twice; the look that had held firm
the lips of the boy who had lain very flat on his stomach in
the roof of the dugout and had watched the Utes burning the
cabin.

"There's no need to sleep on it," he said after a minute.
"You've raised me, and spent some money on me--but I've
saved you a man's wages ever since I was ten. If you think
I've evened things up, all right. If you don't, make out your
bill and I'll pay it when I can. There's no reason why you
should give me anything I haven't earned, just because
you're my father. You earned all you've got, and I guess I
can do the same. As you say, I'm a man. I'll go at the future
man fashion. And," he added with a slight flare of the
nostrils, "I'll start in the morning."

"And is it to make tunes for other folks to play?"Bob Birnie
asked after a silence, covertly eyeing him.

"No, sir. There's more money in cattle. I'll make my stake in
the cow-country, same as you've done." He looked up and
grinned a little. "To the devil with your money and your
she-stock! I'll get out all right--but I'll make my own way."

"You're a stubborn fool, Robert. The Scotch now and then
shows itself like that in a man. I got my start from my