nely land. This whip
might mean something. But what?

At last he dropped his hand and sitting up with his upward glance he
said aloud:

"Father, if there's any reason why I ought to look for the owner, guide
me."

He spoke as if the One he addressed were always present in his
consciousness, and they were on terms of the closest intimacy.

He sprang up then and began putting the things together, as if the
burden of the responsibility were upon One fully able to bear it.

They were soon on their way again, Billy swinging along with the full
realization of the nearness of home.

The way now led towards hazy blue lines of mesas with crags and ridges
here and there. Across the valley, looking like a cloud-shadow, miles
distant lay a long black streak, the line of the gorge of the canyon.
Its dim presence seemed to grow on the missionary's thought as he drew
nearer. He had not been to that canyon for more than a month. There were
a few scattered Indians living with their families here and there in
corners where there was a little soil. The thought of them drew him now.
He must make out to go to them soon. If it were not that Billy had been
so far he would go up there this afternoon. But the horse needed rest
if the man did not, and there was of course no real hurry about the
matter. He would go perhaps in the morning. Meantime it would be good to
get to his own fireside once more and attend to a few letters that
should be written. He was invited to the fort that night for dinner.
There was to be some kind of a frolic, some visitors from the East. He
had said he would come if he reached home in time. He probably would,
but the idea was not attractive just now. He would rather rest and read
and go to sleep early. But then, of course he would go. Such
opportunities were none too frequent in this lonely land, though in his
present mood the gay doings at the fort did not appeal to him strongly;
besides it meant a ride of ten miles further. However, of course he
would go. He fell to musing over the whip again, and in due time he
arrived at his own home, a little one-roomed shanty with a chimney at
the back and four big windows. At the extreme end of the fenced
enclosure about the structure was a little shed for Billy, and all about
was the vast plain dotted with bushes and weeds, with its panorama of
mountain and hill, valley and gorge. It was beautiful, but it was
desolate. There were neighbours, a few, but they lived at ma