rk eyes encountered the tender old eyes that looked
out at him from the faded picture. Then he looked again at the owner
of the "AZ's," and gave him a smiling nod.

"Sure, boss. I intended to go into the engineers."

"Ah--wheels."

"You see, we've all been soldiers, since way back when my folks came
over with the first lot from England. Guess I'm the first--backslider."

"Nope. You ain't a backslider, Jim Thorpe. I sure wouldn't say that.
Not on my life. Guess you're the victim of a cow-headed government
that reckons to make soldiers by arithmetic, an' wastin' ink makin'
fool answers to a sight more fool questions. Gee, when I hit Congress,
I'll make some one holler 'help.'"

The foreman's smile broadened.

"'Twasn't exams, boss," he said quietly. "I'd got a cinch on them, and
they were mostly past cutting any ice with me. It was--well, it don't
matter now." He paused, and his eyes settled again on the portrait.
The Irishman waited, and presently Jim turned from the picture, and
his quizzical smile encountered the hard blue eyes of the other.

"You said just now my head was full of wheels," he began, with a
humorous light in his eyes that was yet not without sadness. "Maybe it
is--maybe it has reason to be. You see, it was an automobile that
finished my career at West Point. My mother came by her death in one.
An accident. Automobiles were immature then--and--well, her income
died with her, and I had to quit and hustle in a new direction.
Curiously enough I went into the works of an automobile enterprise.
I--I hated the things, but they fascinated me. I made good there, and
got together a fat wad of bills, which was useful seeing I had my
young cousin's--you know, young Will Henderson, of Barnriff; he's a
trapper now--education on my hands. Just as things were good and
dollars were coming plenty the enterprise bust. I was out--plumb out.
I hunched up for another kick. I had a dandy patent that was to do big
things. I got together a syndicate to run it. I'd got a big car built
to demonstrate my patent, and it represented all I had in the world.
It was to be on the race-track. Say, she didn't demonstrate worth a
cent. My syndicate jibbed, and I--well, here I am, a cattleman--you
see cattle haven't the speed of automobiles, but they mostly do what's
expected. That's my yarn, boss. You didn't know much of me. It's not a
great yarn as life goes. Mostly ordinary. But there's a deal of life
in it, in its way. There's a