At the Night Hawk ranch too were all the signs of the new order of things.  Fenced fields and imported stock, a new ranch house with stables and granaries, were some of the indications that the coming of the market for the produce of the ranch had synchronized with the making of the man for its administration.  The call of the New Time, and the appeal of the New Ideal, that came through the railroad, the mine, but, more than both, through the Mission and its founder, found a response in the heart of Jack French.  The old laissez faire of the pioneer days gave place to a sense of responsibility for opportunity, and to habits of decisive and prompt attention to the business of the hour.  Five years of intelligent study of conditions, of steady application to duty, had brought success not in wealth alone, but in character and in influence.

But upon Kalman, more than upon any other, these five years had left their mark.  The hard grind of daily work, the daily burden of administration, had toughened the fibre of his character and hardened the temper of his spirit, and this hardening and toughening could be seen in every line of his face and in every motion of his body.  Twice during the five years he had been sent by Jack French to the city for a three months’ term in a Business College, where he learned to know, not only the books of his College curriculum, but, through Jack’s introductions, the men who were doing big things for the country.  He had returned to his place and to his work in the mine with vision enlarged, ideal exalted, and with the purpose strengthened to make the best out of life.  In every sense the years had made a man of him.  He was as tall as Jack, lithe and strong; in mind keen and quick, in action resolute.  To those he met in the world of labour and of business he seemed hard.  To his old friends on the ranch or at the Mission, up through all the hardness there welled those springs that come from a heart kind, loyal, and true.  Among the Galicians of the colony, he was their acknowledged leader, because he did justly by them and because, although a Canadian among Canadians, he never forgot to own and to honour the Slav blood that flowed in his veins, and to labour for the advancement of his people.

But full of work and ambition as he was, yet there were times when Jack French read in his eyes the hunger of his heart.  For after all, it is in the heart a man carries his life, it is through the heart come his finest ideals, from the heart his truest words and deeds.

At one such time, and the week before she came again, Jack French, looking through the window of his own heart and filled with a great pity for the young man who had come to be more than brother to him, had ventured to speak.  But only once, for with such finality of tone and manner as made answer impossible, Kalman had made reply.

“No, Jack, I had my dream.  It was great while it lasted, but it is past, and I shall dream no more.”