"Dad put it straight enough, and it's no good arguing. I'd
starve before I'd take anything from him. I'm entitled to my
clothes, and maybe a horse or two for the work I've done for
him while I was growing up. I've figured out pretty close
what it cost to put me through the University, and what I was
worth to him during the summers. Father's Scotch--but he
isn't a darned bit more Scotch than I am, mother. Putting it
all in dollars and cents, I think I've earned more than I
cost him. In the winters, I know I earned my board doing
chores and riding line. Many a little bunch of stock I've
saved for him by getting out in the foothills and driving
them down below heavy snowline before a storm. You remember
the bunch of horses I found by watching the magpies--the time
we tied hay in canvas and took it up to them 'til they got
strength enough to follow the trail I trampled in the snow? I
earned my board and more, every winter since I was ten. So I
don't believe I owe dad a cent, when it's all figured out.

"But you've done for me what money can't repay, mother. I'll
always be in debt to you--and I'll square it by being the
kind of a man you've tried to teach me to be. I will, mother.
Dad and the dollars are a different matter. The debt I owe
you will never be paid, but I'm going to make you glad I know
there's a debt. I believe there's a God, because I know there
must have been one to make you! And no matter how far away I
may drift in miles, your Buddy is going to be here with you
always, mother, learning from you all there is of goodness
and sweetness." He held her two hands against his face, and
she felt his cheeks wet beneath her palms. Then he took them