The cabin of Manuel squatted upon a little rise of ground at the head
of the valley. When Jack stood in the doorway and looked down upon the
green sweep of grazing ground with the hills behind, and farther away
another range facing him, he owned to himself that it was good to be
there. The squalidness of the town he had left so tumultuously struck
upon his memory nauseatingly.
Spring was here in the valley, even though the mountains shone white
beyond. A wind had come out of the south and driven the fog back to
the bay, and the sun shone warmly down upon the land. Two robins
sang exultantly in the higher branches of the oak, where they had
breakfasted satisfyingly upon the first of the little, green worms
that gave early promise of being a pest until such time as they
stiffened and clung inertly, waiting for the dainty, gray wings to
grow and set them aflutter over the tree upon which they had fed.
One of them dropped upon Jack's arm while he stood there and crawled
aimlessly from the barren buckskin to his wrist. He flung it off
mechanically. Spring was here of a truth; in the town he had not
noticed her coming.
"You're right, Dade," he declared suddenly, over his shoulder. "This
beats getting up at noon and going through the motions of living for
twelve or fourteen hours in town. I believe I'll have Manuel get me
a riding outfit, if he will. Maybe I'll take you up on that rodeo
proposition.
Pages:
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81