The young man bowed respectfully. “Are you Judge Graney?” he questioned.
The judge nodded and the young man smiled slightly. “I am Kent Hollis,” he said.
The judge had been approaching a big table that stood in the center of the room and at the young man’s words he took a second glance at him, but did not hesitate in his walk toward the table. However, he smiled when he reached it, sinking into a chair and motioning the young man to another.
“I have been expecting you,” he said after he had become seated. “Take a chair.” He waited until the young man had drawn a chair opposite him and then he leaned over the table and stretched out his hand in greeting. “I’m glad to see you,” he continued cordially. He held the young man’s hand for an instant, peering steadily into the latter’s unwavering eyes, apparently making a mental estimate of him. Then he dropped the hand and sat back, a half smile on his face. “You look like your father,” he said.
The young man’s face clouded. “Poor dad,” he said slowly.
For a moment there was a silence; the judge studied the young man’s face. Something that he saw in it must have pleased him, for he smiled, becoming serious instantly.
“I am sorry you could not get here in time,” he said. “We buried your father yesterday.”
“I couldn’t make it,” returned the young man regretfully. “I should have liked to see him before he died. Where did you bury him?”
“We took him out to his ranch–the Circle Bar,” returned the judge, “where he said he wanted to be buried when he died. You’ll find that the Circle Bar boys have done their best for him–which was little enough. Poor fellow, he deserved something better.” He looked keenly at the young man.
Lines of pain came into the latter’s face; he bowed his head, nodding at the Judge’s words.