smooth and free like. She could run clean to the top of Dewey, or
sit a horse all day. Do you ever get tired, girl?"

Sammy laughed, and shook her head; "I've run from here to the
signal tree, lots of times, Daddy."

"You're like the old folks, too," mused Jim; "like them in what
you think and say."

"Tell me more," said the girl. "Seems like I remember bein' in a
big wagon, and there was a woman there too; was she my mother?"

Jim nodded, and unconsciously lowered his voice, as he said, "It
was in the old Bald Knobber time. Things happened in them days,
honey. Many's the night I've seen the top of old Dewey yonder
black with men. It was when things was broke up, that--that your
mother and me thought we could do better in Texas; so we went,"
Jim was again sketching broadly.

"Your mother left us there, girl. Seemed like she couldn't stand
it, bein' away from the hills or somethin', and she just give up.
I never did rightly know how it was. We buried her out there, way
out on the big plains."

"I remember her a little," whispered Sammy. Jim continued; "Then
after a time you and me come back to the old place. Your mother
named you Samantha, girl, but bein' as there wasn't no boy, I
always called you Sammy. It seems right enough that way now, for
you've sure been more'n a son to me since we've been alone; and
that's one reason why I learned you to ride and shoot with the