The Man From The Bitter Roots

"When you get through with him," Helen laughed, "I'll review the book he's publishing at his own expense. Here comes Mr. Burt; he looks fagged out."

"These plains fellers are never any good on foot," Uncle Bill commented as Burt caught up. "Now," to Burt and Helen, "I'll jest hold this war-horse back while you two go on ahead. Down there's his light."

There was eagerness in Burt's voice as he said: "Yes, I'd like to have a look at him before he knows we're here. I'm curious to see how he lives--what he does to pass the time."

"I hope as how you won't ketch him in the middle of a wild rannicaboo of wine, women and song," Uncle Bill suggested dryly. "Bachin' in the winter twenty miles from a neighbor is about the most dissipatin' life I know. There must be somethin' goin' on this evenin' or he wouldn't be settin' up after it's dark under the table."

"I'm so excited I'm shaking." Helen declared. "My teeth are almost chattering. I'm so afraid he'll hear us. That will spoil the surprise."

But Bruce had not heard. In complete abandonment to his wretchedness he was still sitting at the table with his head upon his arm. So it was that his father saw him after fifteen years.

When he had thought of Bruce it was always as he had seen him that day through the window of the prairie ranch house--his head thrown back in stubborn defiance, his black eyes full of the tears of childish anger and hurt pride, running bare-footed and bare-headed down the dusty road--running, as he realized afterward, out of his life.

He had bitterly imagined that his son was prospering somewhere, with a wife and children of his own, too indifferent in his contentment and success to bother with his old Dad; and the picture had hardened his heart.

His own life had been no bed of roses--no pioneer's was--and he, too, had known loneliness, hardships, but never anything like this. His shrewd face, deep-seamed and weather-beaten by the suns and snows of many years, worked. Then he straightened his shoulders, stooped from years of riding, and the black eyes under their thick eyebrows flashed.

"So this was that Sprudell fellow's work, was it? He was trying to freeze Bruce out, down him because he thought he had no backing--break him on the rack!" His teeth shut hard and the fingers inside his mittens clenched. "There were people in the world who thought they could treat Bruce like that--and get away with it? Annie's boy--his son! Not yet, by God, not while steers were bringing nine-sixty on the hoof."