. Your part Indian, Jean, and that Indian I reckon
I am going to need bad. I am rich in cattle and horses. And my
range here is the best I ever seen. Lately we have been losing
stock. But that is not all nor so bad. Sheepmen have moved into
the Tonto and are grazing down on Grass Vally. Cattlemen and
sheepmen can never bide in this country. We have bad times ahead.
Reckon I have more reasons to worry and need you, but you must wait
to hear that by word of mouth. Whatever your doing, chuck it and
rustle for Grass Vally so to make here by spring. I am asking you
to take pains to pack in some guns and a lot of shells. And hide
them in your outfit. If you meet anyone when your coming down into
the Tonto, listen more than you talk. And last, son, dont let
anything keep you in Oregon. Reckon you have a sweetheart, and
if so fetch her along. With love from your dad,

GASTON ISBEL.

Jean pondered over this letter. Judged by memory of his father, who
had always been self-sufficient, it had been a surprise and somewhat of
a shock. Weeks of travel and reflection had not helped him to grasp
the meaning between the lines.

"Yes, dad's growin' old," mused Jean, feeling a warmth and a sadness
stir in him. "He must be 'way over sixty. But he never looked old....
So he's rich now an' losin' stock, an' goin' to be sheeped off his
range. Dad could stand a lot of rustlin', but not much from sheepmen."

The softness that stirred in Jean merged into a cold, thoughtful
earnestness which had followed every perusal of his father's letter. A
dark, full current seemed flowing in his veins, and at times he felt it
swell and heat. It troubled him, making him conscious of a deeper,
stronger self, opposed to his careless, free, and dreamy nature. No
ties had bound him in Oregon, except love for the great, still forests
and the thundering rivers; and this love came from his softer side. It
had cost him a wrench to leave. And all the way by ship down the coast
to San Diego and across the Sierra Madres by stage, and so on to this
last overland travel by horseback, he had felt a retreating of the self
that was tranquil and happy and a dominating of this unknown somber
self, with its menacing possibilities. Yet despite a nameless regret
and a loyalty to Oregon, when he lay in his blankets he had to confess
a keen interest in his adventurous future, a keen enjoyment of this
stark, wil