care two straws for me; if she
had she would have written to me, at least."

"Her mother may have been dying."

"Even that needn't keep her from letting me know or sending some word.
She didn't care for me--she was just trying to convert me."

"She wasn't the kind of a girl who flirts. By jinks! You should see her
look right through the boys that used to try to walk home with her after
prayer meeting. They never tried it a second time. She's a wonder that
way. One strange thing about her, she never acts like other girls. You
know what I mean? She's different. She's going to be a singer, and
travel around giving concerts--she told me so once."

Harold was disposed to be fair. "I don't want anybody to feel sorry for
me. I suppose she felt that way, and tried to help me." Here he paused
and his voice changed. "But when I'm a cattle king out West and can buy
her the best home in Des Moines--maybe she won't pity me so much.
Anyhow, there's nothing left for me but to emigrate. There's no use
stayin' around here. Out there is the place for me now."

Jack put Harold down at the station and turned over to him all the money
he had in the world. Harold took it, saying:

"Now you'll get this back with interest, old man. I need it now, but I
won't six months from now. I'm going to strike a job before long--don't
you worry."

Their good-by was awkward and constrained, and Harold felt the parting
more keenly than he dared to show. Jack rode away crying--a brother
could not have been more troubled. It seemed that the bitterness of
death was in this good-by.

CHAPTER VII

ON THE WING

When Harold arose the next morning his cheeks were still red with the
touch of the wind and sun and he looked like a college student just
entering upon a vacation. His grace and dignity of bearing set him apart
from the rough workmen with whom he ate, and he did not exchange a
single word with anyone but the landlord. As soon as breakfast was over
he went out into the town.

Roseville had only one street, and it was not difficult to learn that
Pratt had not yet appeared upon the scene. It was essentially a prairie
village; no tree broke the smooth horizon line. A great many emigrants
were in motion, and their white-topped wagons suggested the sails of
minute craft on the broad ocean as they came slowly up the curve to the
East and fell away down the slope to the West. To all of these Harold
applied during the days that followed, but