Jim stood outside of the window of an adobe hut. From within he could hear the low moans of a woman and now and then the wail of a child. He was alone, save for the missionary who had married him a few months before to Nat-u-ritch, and who was now inside helping the sick woman. Big Bill had gone to fetch an old squaw who had promised to come to the ranch. As Jim leaned against the post of the porch he was stirred by a multitude of emotions. The wails from within grew louder and more fretful. As he watched the heavens, ablaze with a thousand eyes, he wondered why the old woman had failed to come in time. He hardly realized what the past hour had meant to him. A child had been given to him! Something of the wonder of the eternal mystery was numbing his spirit. The sick woman’s moans grew fainter, only the cry of the babe persistently reached him. At last the missionary came to him: Nat-u-ritch was asleep; he would go, he explained, and hurry along the Indian woman who was coming with Big Bill to the ranch. The cry of the child seemed to become more pitiful. Jim tiptoed to the door of the inner room. On the cot lay Nat-u-ritch. He softly crossed to the small bundle of life rolled in the blanket and lifted it in his arms. The warm, appealing little body lay limp against him. He began swaying to and fro until the cry grew fainter. Soon the babe slept; but Jim still stood rocking his son in his strong arms. *CHAPTER XIX* One year slipped into another, until five had passed since the birth of Jim’s son Hal. The cattle did well and ill by turns, but mostly ill. The trusts were making their iron paws felt by the grasp in which they held the ranchmen—absolutely dictating their terms. A dry season often further augmented the disaster of Jim’s ventures. Without repining he fought on, with only great-hearted Bill’s advice and confidence to help him through the wearing time. Green River, which had been the excuse for Carston’s ranch, was in low spirits this sizzling summer afternoon. Throughout the long day the alkali plains had crackled under the withering sun, until the entire place lay covered with a heavy powder of dust. Even the straggling scrub-oak and green sage-brush seemed to be only nature’s imitation of asbestos, so persistently were they radiating the heat of the past week. The adobe stable glared at the low adobe dwelling opposite. Neither gave evidence of any life within. A decrepit wagon with its tongue lolling out lay like a tired dog before the stable; beside it was heaped the dusty double harness with its primitive mending of rope and buckskin, while near the house a disordered hummock of pack-saddles and camp outfits further increased the disorder of the place. An unsteady bench, holding a tin basin, a dipper, and a bucket of water, and a solitary towel on a nail near by, were the sole tributes to civilization.