Harold smiled back into his face, and so it was that the two men parted, for the father, in a flash of insight, understood that no more than this could be gained; but his heart was lighter than it had been for many months as he saw his son ride away from his door. "Write often, Harold," he called after them. "All right. You let me know how the fight comes out. If they whip you, come out West," was Harold's reply; then he turned in his seat. "Drive ahead, Jack; there's no one now but your folks for whom I care." As they drove out along the muddy lanes the hearts of the two boys became very tender. Harold, filled with exaltation by every familiar thing--by the flights of ground sparrows, by the patches of green grass, by the smell of the wind, by the infrequent boom of the prairie chickens--talked incessantly. "What makes me maddest," he broke out, "is to think they've cheated me out of seeing one fall and one winter. I didn't see the geese fly south, and now here they are all going north again. Some time I mean to find out where they go to." He took off his hat. "This wind will mighty soon take the white out o' me, won't it?" He was very gay. He slapped his chum on the shoulder and shouted with excitement. "We must keep going, old man, till we strike the buffalo. They are the sign of wild country that _is_ wild. I want to get where there ain't any fences." Jack smiled sadly in reply. Harold knew he listened and so talked on. "I must work up a big case of sunburn before I strike Mr. Pratt for a job. Did he have extra horses?" "'Bout a dozen. His girl was driving the cattle, but he said----" "Girl? What kind of a girl?" "Oh, a kind of a tomboy, freckled--chews gum and says 'darn it!' That kind of a girl." Harold's face darkened. "I don't like the idea of that girl. She might have heard something, and then it would go hard with me." "Don't you worry. The Pratts ain't the kind of people that read newspapers; they didn't stop here but a day, anyhow." The sight of Mr. Burns and his wife at the gate moved Harold deeply. Mrs. Burns came hurrying out: "You blessed boy! Get right down and let me hug you," and as he leaped down she put her arms around him as if he were her own son, and Harold's eyes smarted with tears. "I declare," said Mr. Burns, "you look like a fightin' cock; must feed you well down there?" No note of doubt, hesitation, concealment, or shame was in their greetings and the boy knew it. They all sat around the kitchen, and chatted and laughed as if no ill thing had ever happened to him. Burns uttered the only doubtful word when he said: "I don't know about this running away from things here. I'd be inclined to stay here and fight it out." "But it isn't running away, Dad," said Jack. "Harry has always wanted to go West and now is the first time he has really had the chance." "That's so," admitted the father. "Still, I'm sorry to see him look like he was running away."