he went on, “We shan’t farm any up there—at the fur fort?”
Buck shook his head.
“It means clearing every inch of land we need. Guess we best hunt, as we said. We’ll make out with pelts. There’s the whole mountains for traps.”
The other stared over at the horses, and his face was very grave. After a while he turned directly to his companion, and his eyes were mildly anxious.
“See here, Buck,” he said, with what seemed unnecessary emphasis. “I’ve thought a heap on the way back—home. It seems to me I’m not acting square by you. And I’ve made up my mind.” He paused. Buck did not change his position, and his eyes were carefully avoiding those of his companion. Then the Padre went on with a decision that somehow lacked confidence. “You must take half the money, and—and get busy your own way. We’ve done farming, so there’s no reason for you to hang around here. You’re a man now, and you’ve your way to make in the world. You see, when we had the farm I thought it was good for you. It would be yours when I died, and then who knows, in time, how valuable it might become? Now it’s all different. You see the hills are best for me.” He smiled strainedly. “They’ve always been good friends to me. But——”
“Yes, you don’t fancy leavin’ the hills.” Buck’s eyes wore a curious expression. They were half-smiling, half-angry. But the other could not see them. The Padre jumped eagerly at his words.
“Just so. I’ve known them so long now that there doesn’t seem to be any other world for me. Even Leeson Butte makes me feel—er—strange.”
Buck nodded. Then he changed the subject.
“Say, we don’t sleep at the farm to-night,” he said. “The blankets are up at the old fort. That’s why I got around here. When’s she comin’ along?”
“In two or three days.” The Padre had no choice but to follow the younger man’s lead. “She’s sending along a farm woman first. She’s going to run the place herself.”
“Ther’s no man comin’?” Buck half turned to his friend.
“I don’t think so.”
“They can’t do it—hereabouts,” Buck retorted quickly. “That farm needs a man.”
“Yes.”
Buck rose abruptly and went over to the horses.
“Going?” inquired the Padre.
“I’ll get along with the vittles, and hand ’em over to the boys. Guess I’ll git back to the fort in a few hours.”
The Padre sat hesitating. He watched the movements of his companion without observing them.
“Buck!”
The other paused as he was about to put his foot into the stirrup. He glanced over his shoulder.
“Yes?”
“About that money. There’s five thousand of it yours.”
“Not on your life, Padre!”
The elder man sighed as he stood up, and his look changed so that it almost seemed as if a weight had been lifted from his mind. Their eyes met as Buck swung himself into the saddle.
“Then we’re going to the hills—together?” he said smilingly.
“Sure,” responded Buck promptly. Then he added, “But we’re goin’ to hunt—not farm.”
His decisive manner left no room for doubt, and the Padre, moving over to him, held out his hand. They gripped till the elder man winced.
“I’m glad I found you on the trail that time,” he said, looking squarely into the steady brown eyes. “I’ve always been glad, but—I’m gladder still now.”
“Me, too,” said Buck, with a light laugh. “Guess I’d have hated to ha’ fed the coyotes.”
Buck swung round to the trail, leading his packhorse, and the Padre went back to his horse. Just as he was about to mount the younger man’s voice reached him again. He paused.
“Say, what’s the woman’s name?” Buck inquired.
“Eh?” The Padre looked startled. “The woman that bought the farm?”
“Yes—sure.”
The elder man’s face flushed painfully. It was a curious sight. He looked as stupidly guilty as any schoolboy.
“I—I can’t say. I never asked.” He felt absurdly foolish and tried to explain. “You see, I only dealt with the lawyer.”
Buck shook his head, and smiled in his slow fashion.
“Sold the farm, an’ don’t know who to! Gee!”
It was good to hear his laugh as he rode away. The Padre watched him till he was out of sight.
CHAPTER V
THE STEEPS OF LIFE
Buck leant over his horse’s withers as the laboring creature clawed tenaciously up the face of the rugged hill. His whole poise was that of sympathetic straining. Nor were his eyes a whit less eager than those of the faithful animal under him.
He was making the last twenty yards of the climb up Devil’s Hill from the side on which lay the new home adopted by the Padre and himself. Hitherto this point of approach had been accepted as inaccessible for a horseman, nor, until now, had Buck seen reason to dispute the verdict. But, to-day, a sudden impulse had constrained him to make the attempt, not from any vainglorious reason, or from the recklessness which was so much a part of his nature, but simply that somewhere high up on the great table-land at the summit of the hill he hoped to find an answer to a riddle that was sorely puzzling him.
It had been a great struggle even on the lower and more gradual slopes, for the basaltic rocks were barren, and broken, and slippery. There was no gripping soil, or natural foothold. Just the weather-worn rocks which offered no grip to Cæsar’s metal-shod hoofs. Yet the generous-hearted beast had floundered on up to the last stretch, where the hill rose abruptly at a perilous angle.
It was a terrible scramble. As he looked above, at the point where the sky-line was cut by the broken rocks, even the reckless heart of the man quailed. Yet there was no turning back. To do so meant certain disaster. No horse, however sure-footed, could ever hope to make the descent by the way they had come. Buck had looked back just for one brief second, but his eyes had instantly turned again for relief to the heights above. Disaster lay behind him. To go on—well, if he failed to reach the brow of the blackened hill it would mean disaster anyway. And
