As they drove out along the muddy lanes the hearts of the two boys became very tender. Harold, filled with exaltation by every familiar thing—by the flights of ground sparrows, by the patches of green grass, by the smell of the wind, by the infrequent boom of the prairie chickens—talked incessantly.
"What makes me maddest," he broke out, "is to think they've cheated me out of seeing one fall and one winter. I didn't see the geese fly south, and now here they are all going north again. Some time I mean to find out where they go to." He took off his hat. "This wind will mighty soon take the white out o' me, won't it?" He was very gay. He slapped his chum on the shoulder and shouted with excitement. "We must keep going, old man, till we strike the buffalo. They are the sign of wild country that is wild. I want to get where there ain't any fences."
Jack smiled sadly in reply. Harold knew he listened and so talked on. "I must work up a big case of sunburn before I strike Mr. Pratt for a job. Did he have extra horses?"
"'Bout a dozen. His girl was driving the cattle, but he said——"
"Girl? What kind of a girl?"
"Oh, a kind of a tomboy, freckled—chews gum and says 'darn it!' That kind of a girl."
Harold's face darkened. "I don't like the idea of that girl. She might have heard something, and then it would go hard with me."
"Don't you worry. The Pratts ain't the kind of people that read newspapers; they didn't stop here but a day, anyhow."
The sight of Mr. Burns and his wife at the gate moved Harold deeply. Mrs. Burns came hurrying out: "You blessed boy! Get right down and let me hug you," and as he leaped down she put her arms around him as if he were her own son, and Harold's eyes smarted with tears.
"I declare," said Mr. Burns, "you look like a fightin' cock; must feed you well down there?"