s that
was unnatural, strange--something that caused Little Jim to hesitate in
his questioning. Little Jim idolized his father, and, with unfailing
intuition, believed in him to the last word. As for his mother, who had
left without explanation and would never return--Little Jim missed her,
but more through habit of association than with actual grief.

He knew that his mother and father had not gotten along very well for
some time. And now Little Jim recalled something that his mother had
said: "He's as much your boy as he is mine, Jim Hastings, and, if you
are set on sending him to school, for goodness' sake get him some decent
clothes, which is more than I have had for many a year."

Until then Jimmy had not realized that his clothing or his mother's was
other than it should be. Moreover, he did not want to go to school. He
preferred to work on the ranch with his father. But it was chiefly the
tone of his mother's voice that had impressed him. For the first time in
his young life, Little Jim felt that he was to blame for something which
he could not understand. He was accustomed to his mother's sudden fits
of unreasonable anger, often followed by a cuff, or sharp reprimand. But
she had never mentioned his need of better clothing before, nor her own
need.

As for being as much his father's boy as his mother's--Little Jim felt
that he quite agreed to that, and, if anything, that he belonged more to
his father, who was kind to him, than to any one else in the world.
Little Jim, trying to reason it out, now thought that he knew why his
mother had left home. She had gone to live in town that she might have
better clothes and be with folks and not wear her fingers to the bone
simply for a bed and three meals a day, as Little Jim had heard her say
more than once.

But the trip to Aunt Jane's, down in Arizona, was too vivid in his
imagination to allow room for pondering. Big Jim had said they were to
leave in the morning. So, while supper was cooking, Little Jim slipped
into his bedroom and busied himself packing his own scant belongings.
Presently his father called him. Little Jim plodded out bearing his few
spare clothes corded in a neat bundle, with an old piece of canvas for
the covering. His father had taught him to pack.

Big Jim stared. Then a peculiar expression flitted across his face.
Little Jim was always for the main chance.

"I'm all hooked up to hit the trail, dad."

In his small blue overalls and jumper