He sat beside her:  she laid her hand across his gnarled brown fingers with an unconscious caress.

“It’s good to see you, old-timer!  Begin now—­I, John Wesley Pringle, am come from going to and fro upon the earth and from walking up and down in it.  But I didn’t ask you where you were living.  Perhaps you have a—­home of your own now.”

John Wesley firmly lifted her slim fingers from his hand and as firmly deposited them in her lap.

“Kindly keep your hands to yourself, young woman,” he said with stately dignity.

“Here is an exact account of all my time since I saw you:  I have been hungry, thirsty, sleepy, tired.  To remedy these evils, upon expert advice I have eaten, drunk, slept, and rested.  I have worked and played, been dull and gay, busy and idle, foolish and unwise.  That’s all.  Oh, yes—­I’m living in Rainbow Mountain; cattle.  Two pardners—­nice boys but educated.  Had another one; he’s married now, poor dear—­and just as happy as if he had some sense.”

“You’re not?”

“Not what—­happy or married?”

“Married, silly!”

“And I’m not.  Now it’s your turn.  Where do you live?  Here in town?”

“Oh, no.  Dad’s got a farm twenty miles up the river and a ranch out on the flat.  I just came down on the morning train to do a little shopping and go back on the four-forty-eight—­and I’ll have to be starting soon.  You’ll walk down to the station with me?”

“But the sad story of your life?” objected Pringle.

“Oh, I’ll tell you that by installments.  You’re to make us a long, long visit, you know—­just as long as you can stay.  You’re horseback, of course?  Well, then, ride up to-night.  Ask for Aden Station.  We live just beyond there.”

“But the Major was a very hostile major when I saw him last.”

“Oh, father’s got all over that.  He hadn’t heard your side of it then.  He often speaks of you now and he’ll be glad to see you.”

“To-morrow, then.  My horse is tired—­I’ll stay here to-night.”

“You’ll find dad changed,” said the girl.  “This is the first time in his life he has ever been at ease about money matters.  He’s really quite well-to-do.”

“That’s good.  I’m doing well in that line too.  I forgot to tell you.”  There was no elation in his voice; he looked back with a pang to the bold and splendid years of their poverty.  “Then the Major will quit wandering round like a lost cat, won’t he?”

“I think he likes it here—­only for the crazy-mad political feeling; and I think he’s settled down for good.”

“High time, I think, at his age.”

“You needn’t talk!  Dad’s only ten years older than you are.”  She leaned her cheek on her hand, she brushed back a little stray tendril of midnight hair from her dark eyes, and considered him thoughtfully.  “Why, John Wesley, I’ve known you nearly all my life and you don’t look much older now than when I first saw you.”