But with lanterns they set out upon the tracks Curly had
left in the snow. Bill's wife would not remain behind.

Soon they arrived at Blake's homestead, though the pony tracks became
difficult to follow and found Pan wide awake, huddled beside the cow,
true to the trust that had been given him. Mrs. Blake was not in bad
condition, considering the circumstances, nor was the baby. It was a
girl, whom Jim named Lucy right then and there, after his wife.

The men carried the mother and her babe up to the house, while Mrs.
Smith followed with the now sleepy Pan. They built fires in the open
grate, and in the kitchen stove, and left Mrs. Smith to attend to the
mother. Both women heard the men talking. But Pan never heard, for he
had been put to bed in a corner, rolled in blankets.

"Doggone my hide!" exclaimed Bill. "Never seen the beat of that kid of
mine!"

"Mebbe Pan saved both their lives, God bless him," replied Blake with
emotion.

"_Quien sabe_? It might be.... Wal, strange things happen. Jim, that
kid of mine was born right out on the plowed field. An' here comes
your kid--born in the cowshed on the hay!"

"It is strange," mused Blake, "though we ought to look for such
happenin's out in this great west."

"Wal, Pan an' Lucy couldn't have a better birthright. It ought to
settle them two kids for life."

"You mean grow up an' marry some day? Now that would be fine. Shake
on it, Bill."

Pan asleep in the corner of the other room and Lucy wailing at her
mother's breast were pledged to each other by their fathers.

The winter passed for Pan much as had the preceding one, except that he
had more comfort to play his everlasting game of roundup.

"When will Lucy be big enough to play with me?" he often asked. The
strange little baby girl had never passed from his mind, though he had
never seen her. She seemed to form the third link in his memory of the
forging of his life. Curly--the cowboys--and Lucy! He did not know
how to reconcile her with the other two. But those three events stood
out above the blur of the past.

At last the snow melted, the prairie took on a sheen of green, the tree
burst into bud, and birds returned to sing once more. All of this was
beautiful, but insignificant beside Curly. He was fatter and friskier
than ever.

Pan's father came home once or twice a month that spring, always
arriving late and leaving at an early hour. How Pan longed for his
father's coming!