He was silent, dramatizing the situation to himself, and the girl did not speak. How much was she impressed? He wondered. “And the old woman was great, too,” said the doctor, out of a long meditation. “Like an old tribal priestess! They tell me, for a fact, she’s a hundred and three! Can’t write her name, never seen a town or a railroad train, but she wants her ‘son’s _son’s_ son fotched on!’ Well, we’ll look out for him, won’t we?” “I guess he can look out for himself,” said Glen, soberly. “I expect he’d kill any one who looked crosswise at him.” “Oh, he’ll key down when he gets away from that feud stuff! It’s out of date, now, even in the mountains. The Manders family is the last to carry on, I understand. He’s got a head on him, that boy; he’ll learn--learn fast!” She had never seen him so alertly interested. It became an obsession with him in the weeks which followed; they took toilsome trips far out of their way to find Luke Manders, and they made little progress in confidence or friendship, but this merely added a fillip to their determination. It became a sort of golden legend with them, gilding their dull days. “Well, Glen, I saw him!” “Oh, _did_ you, Dad?” (One of the rare times when she had not been with him.) “What did he say?” “I don’t use such language in the presence of ladies,” her father grinned enjoyingly. “Oh, yes--he yelled back at me--‘Where’s the red-head?’ His poor old granny’s pretty discouraged, but I tell her she needn’t be. Wild things are slow to tame.”