"Well, but it must not be longer," his mother consented.
Harding bowed to her respectfully when he entered the room; then he turned to Lance with a smile.
"Glad to see you looking much better than I expected."
Lance gave him his hand, though he winced as he held it out, and his mother noticed Harding's quick movement to save him a painful effort. There was a gentleness that pleased her in the prairie man's face.
"I don't want to embarrass you, but you'll understand how I feel about what you did for me," said Lance. "I won't forget it."
"Pshaw!" returned Harding. "We all get into scrapes. I wouldn't be here now if other people hadn't dragged me clear of a mower-knife, and once out of the way of a locomotive when my team balked in the middle of the track."
"I don't suppose any of the fellows gave you his clothes with the thermometer at minus forty. But I won't say any more on that point. Was my horse killed?"
"On the spot!"
"Well, it was my own fault," he said slowly. "I was trying a new headstall, and I wasn't very careful in linking up the bit."