He glanced at me with an eye that held more confidence than hitherto he had been able to feel in me. I had made one step in his approval. But I had many yet to go. This day he preferred his own thoughts to my conversation, and so he did all the days of this first journey; while I should have greatly preferred his conversation to my thoughts. He dismissed some attempts that I made upon the subject of Uncle Hughey so that I had not the courage to touch upon Trampas, and that chill brief collision which might have struck the spark of death. Trampas! I had forgotten him till this silent drive I was beginning. I wondered if I should ever see him, or Steve, or any of those people again. And this wonder I expressed aloud. “There’s no tellin’ in this country,” said the Virginian. “Folks come easy, and they go easy. In settled places, like back in the States, even a poor man mostly has a home. Don’t care if it’s only a barrel on a lot, the fello’ will keep frequentin’ that lot, and if yu’ want him yu’ can find him. But out hyeh in the sage-brush, a man’s home is apt to be his saddle blanket. First thing yu’ know, he has moved it to Texas.” “You have done some moving yourself,” I suggested. But this word closed his mouth. “I have had a look at the country,” he said, and we were silent again. Let me, however, tell you here that he had set out for a “look at the country” at the age of fourteen; and that by his present age of twenty-four he had seen Arkansas, Texas, New Mexico, Arizona, California, Oregon, Idaho, Montana, and Wyoming. Everywhere he had taken care of himself, and survived; nor had his strong heart yet waked up to any hunger for a home. Let me also tell you that he was one of thousands drifting and living thus, but (as you shall learn) one in a thousand.