“I suppose you folks are ranching it?” asked Adam, by way of opening conversation. “It’s hardly a ranch, though we have hopes,” replied Blair. “Mother and I run the farm. My father’s not--he’s away.” “Looks like good soil. Plenty of water and fine grass,” observed Adam. “Best farming country all around--these valleys,” declared the lad, warming to enthusiasm. “Ranchers taking it all up. Only a few valleys left. There’s one just below this--about a hundred acres--if I could only get that!... But no such luck for me.” “You can never tell,” replied Adam, in his quiet way. “You say ranchers are coming in?” “Yes. San Diego is growing fast. People are buying out the Mexicans and Indians up in these hills. In a few years any rancher with one of these valleys will be rich.” “How much land do you own?” “My mother bought this little farm here--ten acres--and the valley, which was about ninety. But my father--we lost the valley. And we manage to live here.” Adam’s quick sympathy divined that something pertaining to the lad’s father was bitter and unhappy. He questioned further about the farm, what they raised, where they marketed it, how many cattle, horses, chickens, ducks they had. In half an hour Adam knew the boy and liked him. “You’re pretty well educated for a farmer boy,” remarked Adam. “I went to school till I was sixteen. We’re from Indiana--Vincennes. Father got the gold fever. We came West. Mother and I took to a surer way of living.” “You like ranching, then?” “Gee! but I’d love to be a real rancher! There’s not only money in cattle and horses, on a big scale, but it’s such a fine life. Outdoors all the time!... Oh, well, I _do_ have the outdoors as much as anybody. But for mother and the kids--I’d like to do better by them.” “I saw the youngsters and I’d like to get acquainted. Tell me about them.” “Nothing much to tell. They’re like little Indians. Tommy’s three, Betty’s four, Hal’s five. He was a baby when we came West. The trip was too hard on him. He’s been delicate. But he’s slowly getting stronger.” “Well! You’ve a fine family. How are you going to educate them?” “That’s our problem. Mother and I must do our best--until--maybe we can send them to school at San Diego.” “When your ship comes in?” “Yes; I’m always hoping for that. But first I’d like my ship to start out, so it can come back loaded.” The lad laughed. He was imaginative, full of fire and pathos, yet clear headed and courageous, neither blind to the handicap under which he labored nor morose at his fetters. “Yes, if a man _waits_ for his ship to come in--sometimes it never comes,” said Adam. “I suppose you’ll be on your way to town early?” asked Blair, as he rose. “Guess I’ll not break camp to-morrow. Genie is tired. And I won’t mind a little rest. Hope we’ll see you again.” “Thank you. Good night.” * * * * *