But Joan would come back to the sheeplands, as she said everybody came back to them who once had lived in their silences and breathed their wide freedom. She would come back, not lost to him, but regained, her lesson learned, not to go away with that youth who wore the brand of old sins on his face. So hope came to lift him and assure him, just when he felt the somber cloud of the lonesomeness beginning to engulf his soul. "I know Tim don't like it, but me and Rabbit butcher lambs right along, and we'll keep on doin' it as long as we run sheep. A man's got to have something besides the grub he gits out of tin cans. That ain't no life." "You're right, Dad. I'd been in a hole on the side of some hill before now if it hadn't been for the broth and lamb stew Rabbit fed me. There's nothing like it." "You right they ain't!" said Dad, forgetting Mackenzie's lapse of a little while before. "I save the hides and turn 'em over to him, and he ain't got no kick. If I was them children I'd butcher me a lamb once a week, anyhow. But maybe they don't like it--I don't know. I've known sheepmen that couldn't go mutton, never tasted it from one year to another. May be the smell of sheep when you git a lot of 'em in a shearin' pen and let 'em stand around for a day or two." But what had they told Joan that she would go away without a word, leaving him in a sickness from which he might never have turned again? Something had been done to alienate her, some crafty libel had been poured into her ears. Let that be as it might, Joan would come back, and he would wait in the sheeplands for her, and take her by the hand and clear away her troubled doubts. The comfort of this thought would drive the lonesomeness away. He would wait. If not in Tim Sullivan's hire, then with a little flock of his own, independent of the lords of sheep. He would rather remain with Sullivan, having more to prove now of his fitness to become a flockmaster than at the beginning. Sullivan's doubt of him would have increased; the scorn which he could not quite cover before would be open now and expressed. They had no use in the sheeplands for a man who fought and lost. They would respect him more if he refused to fight at all. Dad was still talking, rubbing his fuzzy chin with reflective hand, looking along the hillside to where Rabbit stood watch over the sheep. "Tim wanted to buy that big yellow collie from Rabbit," he said. "Offered her eighty dollars. Might as well try to buy me from that woman!" "I expect she'd sell you quicker than she would the collie, Dad." "Wish she would sell that dang animal, he never has made friends with me. The other one and me we git along all right, but that feller he's been educated on the scent of that old vest, and he'll be my enemy to my last day." "You're a lucky man to have a wife like Rabbit, anyhow, dog or no dog. It's hard for me to believe she ever took a long swig out of a whisky jug, Dad."