pneumony goes hard up here in the Colorado Rockies. Sairy, my wife, is always at me to get a boy to live with us, but after my experience with ‘Denver,’ no boys for me. No, sir, never ag’in!”
Kane felt very uncomfortable as Thompson delivered himself of this speech. At first he stole only a timid, sidelong glance at the man who had no use for boys and dogs. But presently, gathering courage, he surveyed his companion’s care-lined face. He decided that Thompson was not as unkindly as his words might imply.
“Moreley some connection of yours?” he asked Kane, after driving for some time in silence.
“No,” answered Kane, snuggling his chin down inside the turned-up collar of his newly acquired overcoat; “Uncle Hi thought Pard and I might find a job there.”
“Who ’s Uncle Hi?”
“A kind old man I lived with after my father and mother died.”
“Why did n’t you stay with him?” Thompson asked, darting a suspicious glance at Kane from under a ledge of bushy brows.
“He died, too, and it took everything to pay the funeral expenses. Dr. Bently paid my way up to Rainbow. When I earn money enough, I ’ll pay him back and buy a tombstone for Uncle Hi.”
“Well, lad, it ’s a world o’ trouble!” and the old man sighed deeply. “I was gittin’ along tiptop till our boy died. After that I seemed to run downhill, and had to mortgage my ranch to Jim Moreley to keep goin’. But,” pridefully, “I got some fine sheep, and if I ’ve good luck winterin’ ’em, I ‘11 pay out next fall, and be independent ag’in .
As they steadily ascended, the wind grew more chilly and moaned ominously among the pines that dotted the mountain slopes. The keen air made Kane’s nose and ears tingle, and he drew closer to his companion.
“Goin’ to storm,” observed Thompson, squinting toward the sky. “It ’s a sure sign when the pines screech that way. Here we are,” he announced, turning off on a side trail. “That ’s my place,” pointing to a homy-looking cottage that stood in a sheltered arm of the wide cañon.
“It ’s about three miles up the trail yonder to Moreley’s,” he explained. “You can eat a bite with Sairy and me before goin’ on.”
As Kane helped unhitch the ponies, a motherly looking woman called from the house that dinner was ready. She made friends with Pard at once, and brought him a plate of scraps from the kitchen.
“Some Christmas fixin’s for you, Sairy,” said Thompson, as he and Kane deposited on the table several packages brought from Rainbow.
In the neat, warm kitchen, Kane, seated between the old couple, ate his share of the good “boiled dinner” with a gusto caused by a keen appetite. More than once he caught Mrs. Thompson’s kindly eyes fixed on his face with an almost yearning eagerness.
The meal over, Pard had another feast in the shed behind the kitchen. Then, thanking the couple for their kindness, Kane slipped into the overcoat and prepared for his climb up to Moreley’s ranch.
“He reminds me so much of Harry,” Kane overheard Mrs. Thompson say in an undertone to her husband. “Why can’t we keep him? Moreley’s will be such a rough place for him.”
Thompson muttered something about boys and dogs being a great deal of bother.
“It seems as if Providence sent him to us,” she persisted, “your bringing him here, and on Christmas eve, too! Hes like a Christmas present,’ with a smile directed at Kane. Then, with a pleading quiver of the pleasant voice, “Do let ’s keep him—and that fine collie!”
But Thompson shook his head decisively.
“Well, we can at least keep him overnight—Christmas eve,” she pleaded. “It ’s three o’clock now, and these short days it gets dark so early in the mountains. It ’s going to storm soon,” looking out of the window, “and the trail being strange to him, he might miss his way.”
“The trail ’s all right if he follows it,’ declared the old rancher, impatiently. “He ’d best to go on, for Moreley ’s a crank, and might think we ’re tryin’ to coax the boy from goin’ to him.”
From the foot of the steep trail Kane waved his hand to her, as she stood in the doorway watching him start.
“So much like Harry,” she murmured tremulously. “God guard him!”
“Just stick to that trail, and it ‘ll lead you straight to Moreley’s,” directed Thompson, calling after Kane. “Don’t waste any time though. See that cloud rolling over Old Grayback?” indicating a peak, “that means a snow-storm, and my sheep are scattered somewhere in the cañon. I ’ve got to hustle.”
Kane turned to offer the services of Pard and himself to help round up the sheep, but Thompson had hurried away and disappeared down the cañon. So he went on up the trail. To reinforce his courage he began to whistle, but something in his throat choked him, and he became thoughtful.
“Pard,”’ gently squeezing the collie’s ear, “if Mr. Moreley don’t want us, we ‘ll be in a fix.”
