That astonishing sense of unity crept over Elbert that he had known once or twice before. He remembered Bob Leadley’s story of when he was a little chap, leaving the supper table where there was a fight on between his father and mother, and going out into the barnyard where the cattle ruminated, and there was peace. Yes, he must have listened deeply to all Bob Leadley’s words. It was almost as if he had been that little boy; almost as familiar to him as that night of tequila in Cienaga, in his own experience, when he had sat with Cal and Slim (Chester and the Indian and Mamie grinding at their sun-parched corn). A warm breeze fanned his face now with a smell of sunlit rocks and pine bark and that carried him back to the night of that warm wind at Heaslep’s ranch, when Cal and Slim asked him to join them in a ride south, where he was going anyway. Exquisite ease in the very fatigue that closed in, delight of relaxation complete for the first time in his life. The next day they didn’t stir far from the claim, only moving about the different patches of sun and shade to stretch out in the deep languor that followed days of strain. ‘Pretty near everything a man could want here--don’t you think?’ said Bart. ‘Pretty near,’ said Elbert. ‘The old man made it all to suit himself, didn’t he?’ the voice drawled on. ‘Always a great hand for keeping things up, Dad was. Left his mark on everything. I can see it now. A kid wouldn’t--’ ‘I think he was making it for you all the time,’ Elbert said, ‘just as if he was writing a letter to you, when he built those cabinets and stored them. I know he was--always thinking you would come back like this.’ ‘A lot of work in that tunnel for one man to do alone,’ said Bart. ‘Must have taken him a year--’ ‘More,’ said Elbert. The next morning at breakfast a curious quiet settled between the two men. The spell was breaking, a different gleam in the eyes of the big fellow across the table. In a wordless fashion, Elbert sat for a time. Another sentence of old Bob Leadley’s cleared with deep meaning. ‘I’d get lonesome for him when he was right in the same room--’ ‘We’d better not wait any longer before letting Mort Cotton know,’ Elbert finally said. ‘I’ll ride down to the Slim Stake and get him on the telephone--’ He was back within four hours and Mort reached the claim before sundown. It took two days for everything to be settled, and Elbert was tired in an altogether different way at the end. He had done more talking in those two days than in all the weeks in Sonora. ‘Bart,’ he said, when they were finally alone once more, ‘there’s nothing I’d like better than to work that gold tooth with you, but I’ll have to be away for a few weeks.’ ‘Which way you headin’, Doc?’ ‘East. Been away from home for a long time. I’ve got to see my father--’ Elbert caught that strange gleam again in the eyes of the other. ‘And my sisters,’ he added. ‘I’m ridin’, too, Mister. For a while--’