* * * * *

A half-hour later, Rankin, steaming into the yard of the Big B Ranch,
came upon a scene that savored much of a play. It was so dramatic that
the big man paused in contemplation of it. He saw there the sod and
ashes of what had once been a home. The place must have burned like
tinder, for now, but a few hours from the time when Grannis had first
given the alarm, not an atom of smoke ascended. At one end of the
quadrangular space enclosed by the walls stood the makeshift stove,
discolored with the heat, as was the length of pipe by its side. Near by
was a heap of warped iron and tin cooking utensils. At one side, covered
by an old gunny-sack and a boy's tattered coat, was another object the
form of which the observer could not distinguish.

In the middle of the plat, standing a few inches below the surface, was
a small boy, and in his hands a very large spade. He wore a man's
discarded shirt, with sleeves rolled up at the wrist, and neck-band
pinned tight at one side. Obviously, he had been digging, for a small
pile of fresh dirt was heaped at his right. Now, however, he was
motionless, the blue eyes beneath the long lashes observing the
new-comer inquiringly. That was all, save that to the picture was added
the background of the unbroken silence of the prairie.

The man was the first to break the spell. He got out of the wagon
clumsily, walked around the wall, and entered the quadrangle by what had
been the door.

"What are you doing?" he asked.