As if by prearrangement the mists were suddenly shot with a gleaming light; a crack in the eternal fog widened and through it came a swift, momentary shaft of the winter’s sun. It flashed down on the heavy grass with all the verdant brilliance of an April day, twinkled in the brawling creek, sparkled in the drenched tree tops. That short bit of heat set the whole rolling valley to steaming and from the earth came a yeasty, humid, pungent smell. Follett turned his mild eyes up along the expanse of meadow with such an expression of confidence as had not been there since spring in Missouri. “Waal, hyar’s land good enough. And thar’s the sun.” “Worth fightin’ for I guess,” stated Cameron a little dourly, and turned to Susan. “I been waitin’ for you to change yore mind back to where it used to be. If it’s the same story as it was yesterday I guess I’ll jest leave you folks and mosey along to Californy with the rest.” “Why, Tom, are you blind?” Whereupon he grinned like a schoolboy and turned to the fire with a gesture of ambition. “Jest about, I guess. Well, dad, let’s get started on the cabin. It’d best be a double affair. Two families take up a lot o’ room.” [Transcriber’s Note: This story appeared in the November 7, 1925 issue of _Western Story Magazine_.]