For the sodden land I had looked upon with such disgust when first I had seen it, the range lay dimpled in all the enticement of spring.  Where first I had seen dirty snow-banks, the green was bright as our lawn at home.  The hilltops were lighter in shade, and the jagged line of hills in the far distance was a soft, soft blue, just stopping short of reddish-purple.  I’m not the sort of human that goes wading to his chin in lights and shades and dim perspectives, and names every tone he can think of—­especially mauve; they do go it strong on mauve—­before he’s through.  But I did lift my hat to that dimply green reach of prairie, and thanked God I was there.

I turned toward the hill that hid the town, and there came Frosty driving the same disreputable rig that had taken me first to the Bay State.  I dropped my suit-case and gripped his hand almost before he had pulled up at the platform.  Lord! but I was glad to see that thin, brown face of his.

“Looks like we’d got to be afflicted with your presence another summer,” he grinned.  “I hope yuh ain’t going to claim I coaxed yuh back, because I took particular pains not to.  And, uh course, the boys are just dreading the sight of yuh.  Where’s your war-bag, darn yuh?”

How was that for a greeting?  It suited me, all right.  I just thumped Frosty on the back and called him a name that it would make a lady faint to hear, and we laughed like a couple of fools.

I’m not on oath, perhaps, but still I feel somehow bound to tell all the truth, and not to pass myself off for a saint.  So I will say that Frosty and I had a celebration, that night; an Osage, Montana, celebration, with all the fixings.  Know the brand—­because if you don’t, I’d hang before I’d tell just how many shots we put through ceilings, or how we rent the atmosphere outside.  You see, I was glad to get back, and Frosty was glad to have me back; and since neither of us are the fall-on-your-neck-and-put-a-ring-on-your-finger kind, we had to exuberate some other way; and, as Frosty, would put it, “We sure did.”

I can’t say we felt quite so exuberant next morning, but we were willing to take our medicine, and started for the ranch all serene.  I won’t say a word about mauves and faint ambers and umbras, but I do want to give that country a good word, as it looked that morning to me.  It was great.

There are plenty of places can put it all over that Osage country for straight scenery, but I never saw such a contented-looking place as that big prairie-land was that morning.  I’ve seen it with the tears running down its face, and pretty well draggled and seedy; but when we started out with the sun shining against our cheeks and the hills looking so warm and lazy and the hollows kind of smiling to themselves over something, and the prairie-dogs gossiping worse than a ladies’ self-culture meeting, I tell you, it all looked good to me, and I told Frosty so.

“I’d rather be a forty-dollar puncher in this man’s land,” I enthused, “than a lily-of-the-field somewhere in civilization.”