"That's her," asserted Cheyenne, a trifle ambiguously.
"Then we've swung round in a circle."
"We done crossed the res'avation, pardner. And we didn't see a dog-gone Injun."
Little Jim was the first to catch sight of them as they jogged down the last stretch of trail leaving the foothills. He recognized the horses long before their riders were near enough to be identified as his father and Bartley.
Little Jim did not rush to Aunt Jane and tell her excitedly that they were coming. Instead, he quietly saddled up his pony and rode out to meet them. Part-way up the slope he waited.
His greeting was not effusive. "I just thought I'd ride up and tell you folks that--'that I seen you comin'."
"How goes the hunting?" queried Bartley.
"Fine! I got six rabbits yesterday. Dorry is gittin' so she can shoot pretty good, too. How you makin' it, dad?"
Cheyenne pushed back his hat and gazed at his young son. "Pretty fair, for an old man," said Cheyenne presently. "You been behavin' yourself?"
"Sure."