suggested the great world beyond the run of the Prairie he shrank as one
shrinks from a sudden touch upon an old wound.

"I guess I'll have to move back," he said to me gloomily.

"Why?" I said in surprise, thinking of his grazing range, which was
ample for his herd.

"This blank Sky Pilot." He never swore except when unusually moved.

"Sky Pilot?" I inquired.

He nodded and silently pointed to the notice.

"Oh, well, he won't hurt you, will he?"

"Can't stand it," he answered savagely, "must get away."

"What about Gwen?" I ventured, for she was the light of his eyes. "Pity
to stop her studies." I was giving her weekly lessons at the old man's
ranch.

"Dunno. Ain't figgered out yet about that baby." She was still his baby.
"Guess she's all she wants for the Foothills, anyway. What's the use?"
he added, bitterly, talking to himself after the manner of men who live
much alone.

I waited for a moment, then said: "Well, I wouldn't hurry about doing
anything," knowing well that the one thing an old-timer hates to do is
to make any change in his mode of life. "Maybe he won't stay."