shoulders to reassure her. "I guess it's the way you felt,
mother, when you left Texas behind. You couldn't tell where
you folks would wind up. Neither can I. My trail herd is
kinda small, right now; a lot smaller than it will be later
on. But such as it is, it's going to hit the right range
before it stops for good. And I'll write."

He took a doughnut in his hand and a package of lunch to slip
in his pocket, kissed her with much cheerfulness in his
manner and hurried out, his big-rowelled spurs burring on the
porch just twice before he stepped off on the gravel. Telling
mother good-by had been the one ordeal he dreaded, and he was
glad to have it over with.

Old Step-and-a-Half hailed him as he went past the chuck-
house, and came limping out, wiping his hands on his apron
before he shook hands and wished him good luck. Ezra,
pottering around the tool shed, ambled up with the eyes of a
dog that has been sent back home by his master. "Ah shoah do
wish yo' all good fawtune an' health, Marse Buddy," Ezra
quavered. "Ah shoah do. It ain' goin' seem lak de same place--
and Ah shoah do hopes yo' all writes frequent lettahs to yo'
mothah, boy!"

Bud promised that he would, and managed to break away from
Ezra without betraying himself. How, he wondered, did
everyone seem to know that he was going for good, this time?
He had believed that no one knew of it save himself, his
father and his mother; yet everyone else behaved as if they
never expected to see him again. It was disconcerting, and