. Then he espied a man wielding a hammer on a wheel. His back
was turned. But Pan knew him. Knew that back, that shaggy head
beginning to turn gray, knew even the swing of arm! He approached
leisurely. The moment seemed big, splendid.

"Howdy, Dad," he called, at the end of one of the hammer strokes.

His father's lax figure stiffened. He dropped the wheel, then the
hammer. But not on the instant did he turn. His posture was strained,
doubtful. Then he sprang erect, and whirled. Pan saw his father
greatly changed, but how it was impossible to grasp because his seamed
face was suddenly transformed.

"For the good--Lord's sake--if it ain't Pan!" he gasped.

"It sure is, Dad. Are you glad to see me?"

"_Glad_! ... Reckon this'll save your mother's life!" and to Pan's
amaze he felt himself crushed in his father's arms. That sort of thing
had never been Bill Smith's way. He thrilled to it, and tried again to
beat back the remorse mounting higher. His father released him, and
drew back, as if suddenly ashamed of his emotion. His face, which he
had been trying to control, smoothed out.

"Wal, Pan, you come back now--after long ago I gave up hopin'?" he
queried, haltingly.

"Yes, Dad," began Pan with swift rush of words. "I'm sorry. I always
meant to come home. But one thing and another prevented. Then I never
heard of your troubles. I never knew you needed me. You didn't write.
Why didn't you _tell_ me? ... But forget that. I rode the
ranges--drifted with the cowboys--till I got homesick. Now I've found
you--and well, I want to make up to you and mother."

"Ah-huh! Sounds like music to me," replied Smith, growing slow and
cool. He eyed Pan up and down, walked round him twice. Then he
suddenly burst out, "Wal, you long-legged strappin' son of a gun! If
sight of you ain't good for sore eyes! ... Ah-huh! Look where he
packs that gun!"

With slow strange action he reached down to draw Pan's gun from its
holster. It was long and heavy, blue, with a deadly look. The
father's intent gaze moved from it up to the face of the son. Pan
realized what his father knew, what he thought. The moment was
sickening for Pan. A cold shadow, forgotten for long, seemed to pass
through his mind.

"Pan, I've kept tab on you for years," spoke his father slowly, "but
I'd have heard, even if I hadn't took pains to learn.... Panhandle
Smith! You damned hard-ridin', gun-throwin' son of mine! ... Once my