ition vindicated his previous conviction that his father would
neglect it. Therefore, his satisfaction was not in finding the grave
as it was, but in the knowledge that he had not misjudged his father.
And though he had not loved his mother, the condition of the grave
served to infuse him with a newer and more bitter hatred for the
surviving parent. A deep rage and contempt slumbered within him as he
urged his pony out of the wood toward the ranchhouse.

He was still in no hurry, and soon after leaving the edge of the wood
he halted his pony and sat loosely in the saddle, gazing about him.
When he observed that he might be seen from the ranchhouse he moved
deep into the cottonwood and there, screened behind some nondescript
brush, continued his examination.

The place was in a state of dilapidation, of approaching ruin.
Desolation had set a heavy hand over it all. The buildings no more
resembled those he had known than daylight resembles darkness. The
stable, wherein he had received his last thrashing from his father, had
sagged to one side, its roof seeming to bow to him in derision; the
corral fence was down in several places, its rails in a state of decay,
and within, two gaunt ponies drooped, seeming to lack the energy
necessary to move them to take advantage of the opportunity for freedom
so close at hand. They appeared to watch Calumet incuriously,
apathetically.

Calumet felt strangely jubilant. A vindictive satisfaction and delight
forced the blood through his veins a little faster, for, judging from
the appearance of the buildings, misfortune must have descended upon
his father. The thought brought a great peace to his soul; he even
smiled when he saw that the bunkhouse, which had sheltered the many
cowboys whom he had hated, seemed ready to topple to destruction. The
smile grew when his gaze went to the windmill, to see its long arms
motionless in the breeze, indicating its uselessness.

When he had concluded his examination he did not ride boldly toward the
ranchhouse, but made a wide circuit through the wood, for he wanted to
come upon his father in his own way and in his own time; wanted to
surprise him. There was no use of turning his pony into the corral,
for the animal had more life in him than the two forlorn beasts that
were already there and would not stay in the corral when a breach in
the fence offered freedom. Therefore, when Calumet reached the edge of
the wood near the front of the