"He was always doing decent things. Didn't have much money, either, but somehow he always made it do for a lot of folks who didn't have any. He adopted a girl that wasn't any kin to him, had her educated and then married her. She made him a fine wife, too, thought the world of him. Well, he adopted me and sent me to school and when he saw I had the roving instinct and couldn't stick to the books, he gave me a lift to go West to the mines. He knew that there was no use arguing. "He was queer, too. Didn't like city folks nor their ways. He owned one of those big farms out near what's now Grosse Pointe--ran down to the river--and when the town began to grow out toward them, instead of holding on to his land as it began to get valuable, he'd sell out and go further away. Died, leaving Aunt Mary just enough to live comfortably on--might have been a millionaire. But Uncle Silas was a wise man. "Sometimes when I look at these tight-fisted old guys who make their millions and tie 'em up into estates to hand down, and then remember Uncle Silas--not giving a hoot for money and always pulling along a dozen or two poor relations and setting 'em on their feet, living comfortable and happy, leaving a wife that's as fond of him to-day as she was the day he died--well, I sort of wonder if money and success mean as much as folks think they do." Scott's autobiography was halted by the view which met their eyes as they rounded the turn at the top of the canyon. Turning, the narrow trail wound its way around the mountainside until one looked down upon the tops of foothills, green with scrubby vegetation. Then it stretched in an irregular line down the mountainside, to disappear in their midst. Beyond lay another range of mountains. "Back of that range and across the mesa is where Herrick's place is," said Scott, as they drew rein and waited for Hard to come along. Polly gazed in silence. It was the first view she had had of the wilder part of the country and it thrilled her. Hard came up with them. "Don't you think we'd better make a little speed when we hit the level?" he said. "We've only crossed one stream since we started," observed Polly. "We cross another just before we get to Herrick's," said Hard, "but it never has much water in it except in the rainy season." "I've seen plenty in it then," said Scott, laughing. "I was caught on the wrong side once when they'd had a cloudburst in the mountains. Oh boy, you should have seen her come down! Swept away a wagon with two horses and the Mexican who was driving it in just two minutes." "Oh, how could it--in two minutes?" "Well, it could and did. Before that there wasn't a foot of water in the river bed. When the water came thundering down there was eight or ten. Picked up trees, bushes, chicken coops, greasers--anything in its way, and whirled 'em down the canyon."