Justin Wingate, Ranchman

orced to take a flock of sheep in payment for a debt owed him by a sheepman. The sheep were already in Paradise Valley, and were to be sent at once into th

t mentally, if he wished to remain in Davison's

d from the ranch with a heavy heart; and as he went on his way he questioned why he and not another had been sel

eather would make it advisable to bring them into the lower foot-hills. A sufficient supply of food f

r. Occasionally a lordly elk crashed through a grove, or came out with such suddenness on the lonely herder and his woolly charges that it whistled and fled in astonishment. Black-tailed deer passed frequently on

ngth and that of his dog, as he followed them, while they swarmed everywhere, nibbling, nibbling, with a continual, nerve-racking "baa-a-a! baa-a-a!" Justin could not wonder that sheep-herders often

nd look up into the cool sky; could listen to the foaming plunge of the mountain stream, to the fluttered whisperings of the

h Lucy Davison and Doctor Clayton not very far from both center and periphery wherever they ran o

ith him, containing the wisp of br

nths old. May God bless and preserv

ed as to what his life probably would have been if his mother had lived, or if he had known of his father. Yet he was very well satisfied to have it a

love. To the missionary preacher, Peter Wingate, and to Curtis Clayton, he acknowledged that he owed all he wa

mpartation of knowledge, he had rounded, on the foundation laid by Peter Wingate, a structure of character that combined singular sweetness with great nobility and strength, for Justin had i

story, told in his mother's little Bible, he was so familiar, or like Saul in his boyhood days. His lusty youth, his length of limb, his shapely head covered with its heavy masses

with Lucy Davison to help him. He did not intend to remain either cowboy or sheep-herder, he was sure of that; and he did not think he would care to become a doctor, like Clayton. He would like to accomplish great things; yet if h

He delighted to recall those happy moments under the cottonwoods. Always in his dreams she

keen sense of sympathy he pictured Sloan Jasper plodding his slow rounds, trying to satisfy with his horses and his cows that desire for loving companionship which only the pre

ng the sheep against the coyotes. This was a case in which, as he knew, even Curtis Clayton would approve of slaying. He began to see clearly, too, in this warfare with the coyotes, that nature

ls, with few exceptions, seemed to be trying to devour all the others. The coyotes slew the sheep, the mountain lions pulled down the deer, the w

n they discovered his presence or the dog gave tongue; bucks clattered at each other with antlered horns, or called across the empty spaces; wild cat and cougar leaped the rocks with padded footfalls and occasionally pierced the still air with screams as

ome description of the things that moved him. He composed letters, too, to Lucy, many letters which he never meant to send. In the

s concerning the farmers of the valley, together with a bit of verse. The old hope of Peter Wingate ha

g plumes of

um's emer

e of blue

his wild

f coming

rying, ea

his mould into

o the mill

ut a dream

tilts by

calls from

th

f the fulfillment of that dream had come t

Lucy; and he took away a letter for her, when he departed. The news from home was cheering. Outwardly at

in the ordinary meaning of that word; he was lonely for the companionship of Lucy Davison, for the glance of her brown eyes, for the music of her words; but, possessing that inner light of the mi

e high peaks the sheep were driven into the foot-hills, and then on down into the plain itself, where not only grass, but the v

ed, sturdy, and handsomer even than before. He had learned well the to him necessary lesson of patience, and had tasted the joy of duty