To the west the ground sloped up gently toward the horizon-line, shutting off the track of the trail beyond the ridge.  A sudden longing came over me to see what to-morrow’s journey would offer, bringing back the sense of being shut in that had made me lose interest in fishes that wouldn’t play leap-frog on the sand-bars.  And with it came a longing to be alone.

Instead of following Mat and Beverly to the creek I went out to the top of the swell and stood long in the April twilight, looking beyond the rim of the valley toward the darkening prairies with the great splendor of the sunset’s afterglow deepening to richest crimson above the purpling shadows.

Oh, many a time since that night have I looked upon the Kansas plains and watched the grandeur of coloring that only the Almighty artist ever paints for human eyes.  And always I come back, in memory, to that April evening.  The soul of a man must have looked out through the little boy’s eyes on that night, and a new mile-stone was set there, making a landmark in my life trail.  For when I turned toward the darkening east and the shadowy camp where the evening fires gleamed redly in the dusk, I knew then, as well as I know now, if I could only have put it into words, that I was not the same little boy who had run up the long slope to see what lay next in to-morrow’s journey.

I walked slowly back to the camp and sat down beside Esmond Clarenden.

“What are you thinking about, Gail?” he asked, as I stared at the fire.

“I wish I knew what would happen next,” I replied.

Jondo was lying at full length on the grass, his elbow bent, and his hand supporting his head.  What a wonderful head it was with its crown of softly curling brown hair!

“I wonder if we have done wrong by the children, Clarenden,” the big plainsman said, slowly.

Uncle Esmond shook his head as he replied: 

“I can’t believe it.  They may not be safe with us, but we know they would not have been safe without us.”

Just then Beverly and Mat came racing up from the creek bank.

“Let us stay up awhile,” Mat pleaded.  “Maybe we’ll be less trouble some of these days if we hear you talk about what’s coming.”

“They are right, Jondo.  Gail here wants to know what is coming next, and Mat wants a share in our councils.  What do you want, Beverly?”

“I want to practise shooting on horseback.  I can hit a mark now standing still.  I want to do it on the run,” Beverly replied.

I can see now the earnest look in Esmond Clarenden’s eyes as he listened.  I’ve seen it in a mother’s eyes more than once since then, as she kissed her eldest-born and watched it toddle off alone on its first day of school; or held her peace, when, breaking home ties, the son of her heart bade her good-by to begin life for himself in the world outside.