"You mean—go out there three thousand miles on a long chance of killing this cattle-slayer?"
"Why not? You're not paralyzed or anything. You ought to see Idaho. Every man should. As I said, there are worlds of smaller game. Every man ought to have an objective in his trip; so I say go to Smoky Land. These two weeks might teach you to love the woods so you'd go again and again. And a few trips to the high ranges, once you really got to love 'em and play 'em right, might make—might do wonders for you. Please give me the pleasure of telling the boys that Hughey Gaylord has gone big-game hunting."
Hugh felt the wave of red spreading in his cheeks again. He knew perfectly what the old man had been about to say—"to make a man of him."
"Remember," the Old Colonel urged further, "you're an Anglo-Saxon—a white man of straight descent. It's a heritage, Hugh. And it implies an obligation."
"I'd hate it," Hugh protested.
"Try it and see. Perhaps—there might be a miracle."
Hugh drained his glass; then stood up. "Very well, I'll start next week," he said at last simply.
Thus this son of cities gave his promise to go forth into a man's land: a land of trial and trav-
