"He thinks I'm just chicken-hearted enough to be ready to cut and run at the first obstacle," was Ross's thought when he read what his father had written. His chin came up, and his eyes narrowed. "I'd stay and work here a year before I'd show the white feather now." Ever since his last visit to New York, Ross had dwelt with secret pride on the respect and confidence that his father had shown him, and the sensation was so new and pleasant that he had no intention of forfeiting it. And thus it happened that, with Grant, Senior, and Dr. Grant and Aunt Anne all desiring Ross's presence at home, and with Ross's wishes coinciding exactly with theirs, he remained at the "jumping-off place" into the wilderness. In his private office on Broadway, Grant, Senior, read and reread, "No, I have no intention of throwing up the job." He twisted uneasily in his swivel-chair. He pulled Steele's last letter out of a pigeonhole, read it, frowned, and replaced it. Then he leaned back and admitted aloud: "I wish the boy was safely entered in medical college." But, even as he considered the matter, "the boy" with a small pack on his back, candy and a few apples to eat as a relish with the canned stuff, was plodding through the snow, light and easily brushed aside as yet, over the trail between Miners' Camp and Meadow Creek. And the boy's heart was growing as courageous as his muscles were strong. CHAPTER VII HALF-CONFIDENCES IT was dark that night when Ross arrived at the Weimer shack. The candles were lighted, and as he passed the window, he saw Leslie Jones within, sitting on a box on the opposite side of the room. His elbows were on the table, and he was listening to Weimer, or rather, pretending to listen. At a glance, Ross saw that his thoughts were far afield, his eyes being fixed on the speaker with an absent stare. He appeared more unkempt than on the occasion of his first call, and his face was thinner. There was also about him an air of collapse that made him a different person from the overbearing young man who had issued lofty orders at Sagehen Roost. It was the second time that Ross had seen him since coming into the valley. The week before he had gone with the McKenzies one evening to the Jones claims, but the two boys had exchanged few remarks, both being too tired to talk. As Ross entered the shack a sudden thought struck him. He stopped in the doorway and greeted Jones with, "See here! Why haven't I thought to get your mail Sundays? You haven't been over to Camp at all, have you?" Leslie moved uneasily. He picked up his cap and pulled at the rim. "Aw--it's bully of you to think of my mail, but I'm not expecting--why, yes, you might inquire," he added lamely. Then, "What's going on in Camp? I'd like to hear something about people once more," with a wry smile. Ross unstrapped a pack from his back and threw the contents on the table. Sorting out the week's papers, he tossed them across the table. "'Omaha News.' Want to see it?"