as he turned his horse away toward the left。 〃Thet trail leadin'
south is yours。 When you come to the Rim you'll see a bare spot down
in the Basin。 Thet 'll be Grass Valley。〃
He rode away out of sight into the woods。 Jean leaned against his
horse and pondered。 It seemed difficult to be just to this Colter；
not because of his claims； but because of a subtle hostility that
emanated from him。 Colter had the hard face； the masked intent；
the turn of speech that Jean had come to associate with dishonest men。
Even if Jean had not been prejudiced； if he had known nothing of his
father's trouble with these sheepmen； and if Colter had met him only
to exchange glances and greetings； still Jean would never have had a
favorable impression。 Colter grated upon him； roused an antagonism
seldom felt。
〃Heigho！〃 sighed the young man； 〃Good…by to huntin' an' fishing'！
Dad's given me a man's job。〃
With that he mounted his horse and started the pack mule into the
right…hand trail。 Walking and trotting； he traveled all afternoon；
toward sunset getting into heavy forest of pine。 More than one snow
bank showed white through the green； sheltered on the north slopes of
shady ravines。 And it was upon entering this zone of richer； deeper
forestland that Jean sloughed off his gloomy forebodings。 These stately
pines were not the giant firs of Oregon； but any lover of the woods
could be happy under them。 Higher still he climbed until the forest
spread before and around him like a level park； with thicketed ravines
here and there on each side。 And presently that deceitful level led
to a higher bench upon which the pines towered； and were matched by
beautiful trees he took for spruce。 Heavily barked； with regular
spreading branches； these conifers rose in symmetrical shape to spear
the sky with silver plumes。 A graceful gray…green moss； waved like
veils from the branches。 The air was not so dry and it was colder；
with a scent and touch of snow。 Jean made camp at the first likely site；
taking the precaution to unroll his bed some little distance from his
fire。 Under the softly moaning pines he felt comfortable； having lost
the sense of an immeasurable open space falling away from all around him。
The gobbling of wild turkeys awakened Jean； 〃Chuga…lug； chug…a…lug；
chug…a…lug…chug。〃 There was not a great difference between the gobble
of a wild turkey and that of a tame one。 Jean got up； and taking his
rifle went out into the gray obscurity of dawn to try to locate the
turkeys。 But it was too dark； and finally when daylight came they
appeared to be gone。 The mule had strayed； and； what with finding
it and cooking breakfast and packing； Jean did not make a very early
start。 On this last lap of his long journey he had slowed down。
He was weary of hurrying； the change from weeks in the glaring sun
and dust…laden wind to this sweet coot darkly green and brown forest
was very welcome； he wanted to linger along the shaded trail。 This
day he made sure would see him reach the Rim。 By and by he lost the
trail。 It had just worn out from lack of use。 Every now and then
Jean would cross an old trail； and as he penetrated deeper into the
forest every damp or dusty spot showed tracks of turkey； deer； and
bear。 The amount of bear sign surprised him。 Presently his keen
nostrils were assailed by a smell of sheep； and soon he rode into
a broad sheep； trail。 From the tracks Jean calculated that the
sheep had passed there the day before。
An unreasonable antipathy seemed born in him。 To be sure he had been
prepared to dislike sheep； and that was why he was unreasonable。 But
on the other hand this band of sheep had left a broad bare swath；
weedless； grassless； flowerless； in their wake。 Where sheep grazed
they destroyed。 That was what Jean had against them。
An hour later he rode to the crest of a long parklike slope； where
new green grass was sprouting and flowers peeped everywhere。 The
pines appeared far apart； gnarled oak trees showed rugged and gray
against the green wall of woods。 A white strip of snow gleamed like
a moving stream away down in the woods。
Jean heard the musical tinkle of bells and the baa…baa of sheep and
the faint； sweet bleating of lambs。 As he road toward these sounds
a dog ran out from an oak thicket and barked at him。 Next Jean smelled
a camp fire and soon he caught sight of a curling blue column of smoke；
and then a small peaked tent。 Beyond the clump of oaks Jean encountered
a Mexican lad carrying a carbine。 The boy had a swarthy； pleasant face；
and to Jean's greeting he replied； 〃BUENAS DIAS。〃 Jean understood
little Spanish； and about all he gathered by his simple queries was
that the lad was not aloneand that it was 〃lambing time。〃
This latter circumstance grew noisily manifest。 The forest seemed
shrilly full of incessant baas and plaintive bleats。 All about the
camp； on the slope； in the glades； and everywhere； were sheep。 A few
were grazing； many were lying down； most of them were ewes suckling
white fleecy little lambs that staggered on their feet。 Everywhere
Jean saw tiny lambs just born。 Their pin…pointed bleats pierced the
heavier baa…baa of their mothers。
Jean dismounted and led his horse down toward the camp； where he
rather expected to see another and older Mexican； from whom he might
get information。 The lad walked with him。 Down this way the plaintive
uproar made by the sheep was not so loud。
〃Hello there！〃 called Jean； cheerfully； as he approached the tent。
No answer was forthcoming。 Dropping his bridle； he went on； rather
slowly； looking for some one to appear。 Then a voice from one side
startled him。
〃Mawnin'； stranger。〃
A girl stepped out from beside a pine。 She carried a rifle。 Her
face flashed richly brown； but she was not Mexican。 This fact； and
the sudden conviction that she had been watching him； somewhat
disconcerted Jean。
〃Beg pardonmiss；〃 he floundered。 〃Didn't expect； to see agirl。
。 。 。 I'm sort of lostlookin' for the Riman' thought I'd find a
sheep herder who'd show me。 I can't savvy this boy's lingo。〃
While he spoke it seemed to him an intentness of expression； a strain
relaxed from her face。 A faint suggestion of hostility likewise
disappeared。 Jean was not even sure that he had caught it； but there
had been something that now was gone。
〃Shore I'll be glad to show y'u；〃 she said。
〃Thanks； miss。 Reckon I can breathe easy now；〃 he replied；
〃It's a long ride from San Diego。 Hot an' dusty！ I'm pretty tired。
An' maybe this woods isn't good medicine to achin' eyes！〃
〃San Diego！ Y'u're from the coast？〃
〃Yes。〃
Jean had doffed his sombrero at sight of her and he still held it；
rather deferentially； perhaps。 It seemed to attract her attention。
〃Put on y'ur hat； stranger。 。 。 。 Shore I can't recollect when any
man bared his haid to me。 〃She uttered a little laugh in which
surprise and frankness mingled with a tint of bitterness。
Jean sat down with his back to a pine； and； laying the sombrero by
his side； he looked full at her； conscious of a singular eagerness；
as if he wanted to verify by close scrutiny a first hasty impression。
If there had been an instinct in his meeting with Colter； there was
more in this。 The girl half sat； half leaned against a log； with the
shiny little carbine across her knees。 She had a level； curious gaze
upon him； and Jean had never met one just like it。 Her eyes were
rather a wide oval in shape； clear and steady； with shadows of thought
in their amber…brown depths。 They seemed to look through Jean； and
his gaze dropped first。 Then it was he saw her ragged homespun skirt
and a few inches of brown； bare ankles； strong and round； and crude
worn…out moccasins that failed to hide the shapeliness； of her feet。
Suddenly she drew back her stockingless ankles and ill…shod little feet。
When Jean lifted his gaze again he found her face half averted and a
stain of red in the gold tan of her cheek。 That touch of embarrassment
somehow removed her from this strong； raw； wild woodland setting。 It
changed her poise。 It detracted from the curious； unabashed； almost
bold； look that he had encountered in her eyes。
〃Reckon you're from Texas；〃 said Jean； presently。
〃Shore am；〃 she drawled。 She had a lazy Southern voice； pleasant
to hear。 〃How'd y'u…all guess that？〃
〃Anybody can tell a Texan。 Where I came from there were a good many
pioneers an' ranchers from the old Lone Star state。 I've worked for
several。 An'； come to think of it； I'd rather hear a Texas girl talk
than anybody。〃
〃Did y'u know many Texas girls？〃 she inquired； turning again to face him。
〃Reckon I didquite a good many。〃
〃Did y'u go with them？〃
〃Go with them？ Reckon you mean keep company。 Why； yes； I guess I
dida little；〃 laughed Jean。 〃Sometimes on a Sunday or a dance once
in a blue moon； an' occasionally a ride。 〃
〃Shore that accounts；〃 said the girl； wistfully。
〃For what？ 〃 asked Jean。
〃Y'ur bein' a gentleman；〃 she replied； with force。 Oh； I've not
forgotten。 I had friends when we lived in Texas。 。 。 。 Three years
ago。 Shore it seems longer。 Three miserable years in this damned
country！〃