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and several huge bird tracks new to him which he concluded must have
been made by wild turkeys。
The trail divided at this pond。 Jean had no idea which branch he
ought to take。 〃Reckon it doesn't matter；〃 he muttered； as he was
about to remount。 His horse was standing with ears up； looking back
along the trail。 Then Jean heard a clip…clop of trotting hoofs；
and presently espied a horseman。
Jean made a pretense of tightening his saddle girths while he peered
over his horse at the approaching rider。 All men in this country were
going to be of exceeding interest to Jean Isbel。 This man at a distance
rode and looked like all the Arizonians Jean had seen； he had a superb
seat in the saddle； and he was long and lean。 He wore a huge black
sombrero and a soiled red scarf。 His vest was open and he was without
a coat。
The rider came trotting up and halted several paces from Jean
〃Hullo； stranger！ 〃 he said； gruffly。
〃Howdy yourself！〃 replied Jean。 He felt an instinctive importance
in the meeting with the man。 Never had sharper eyes flashed over
Jean and his outfit。 He had a dust…colored； sun…burned face； long；
lean； and hard； a huge sandy mustache that hid his mouth； and eyes
of piercing light intensity。 Not very much hard Western experience
had passed by this man； yet he was not old； measured by years。
When he dismounted Jean saw he was tall； even for an Arizonian。
〃Seen your tracks back a ways；〃 he said； as he slipped the bit to let
his horse drink。 〃Where bound？〃
〃Reckon I'm lost； all right；〃 replied Jean。 〃New country for me。〃
〃Shore。 I seen thet from your tracks an' your last camp。 Wal； where
was you headin' for before you got lost？〃
The query was deliberately cool； with a dry； crisp ring。 Jean felt
the lack of friendliness or kindliness in it。
〃Grass Valley。 My name's Isbel；〃 he replied； shortly。
The rider attended to his drinking horse and presently rebridled him；
then with long swing of leg he appeared to step into the saddle。
〃Shore I knowed you was Jean Isbel；〃 he said。 〃Everybody in the Tonto
has heerd old Gass Isbel sent fer his boy。〃
〃Well then； why did you ask？〃 inquired Jean； bluntly。
〃Reckon I wanted to see what you'd say。〃
〃So？ All right。 But I'm not carin' very much for what YOU say。〃
Their glances locked steadily then and each measured the other by
the intangible conflict of spirit。
〃Shore thet's natural；〃 replied the rider。 His speech was slow；
and the motions of his long； brown hands； as he took a cigarette
from his vest； kept time with his words。 〃But seein' you're one
of the Isbels； I'll hev my say whether you want it or not。 My name's
Colter an' I'm one of the sheepmen Gass Isbel's riled with。〃
〃Colter。 Glad to meet you；〃 replied Jean。 〃An' I reckon who riled
my father is goin' to rile me。〃
〃Shore。 If thet wasn't so you'd not be an Isbel；〃 returned Colter；
with a grim little laugh。 〃It's easy to see you ain't run into any
Tonto Basin fellers yet。 Wal； I'm goin' to tell you thet your old
man gabbed like a woman down at Greaves's store。 Bragged aboot you
an' how you could fight an' how you could shoot an' how you could
track a hoss or a man！ Bragged how you'd chase every sheep herder
back up on the Rim。 。 。 。 I'm tellin' you because we want you to git
our stand right。 We're goin' to run sheep down in Grass Valley。〃
〃Ahuh！ Well； who's we？〃 queried Jean； curtly。
〃What…at？ 。 。 。 WeI mean the sheepmen rangin' this Rim from
Black Butte to the Apache country。〃
〃Colter； I'm a stranger in Arizona；〃 said Jean； slowly。 I know little
about ranchers or sheepmen。 It's true my father sent for me。 It's
true； I dare say； that he bragged； for he was given to bluster an' blow。
An' he's old now。 I can't help it if he bragged about me。 But if he
has； an' if he's justified in his stand against you sheepmen； Im goin'
to do my best to live up to his brag。 〃
〃I get your hunch。 Shore we understand each other； an' thet's a
powerful help。 You take my hunch to your old man；〃 replied Colter；
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 woul