It was in the end of April before French returned from his tie camp, with nothing for his three months' toil but battered teams and empty pockets, a worn and ill-favoured body, and with a heart sick with the sense of failure and of self-scorn. Kalman, reading at a glance the whole sordid and heart-breaking story, met him with warm and cheery welcome. It was for French, more than for himself, that he grieved over the loss of the mine. Kalman was busy with his preparations for the spring seeding. He was planning a large crop of everything the ranch would grow, for the coming market.
"And the mine, Kalman?" enquired French.
"I've quit mining. The ranch for me," exclaimed Kalman, with cheerful enthusiasm.
"But what's up?" said French, with a touch of impatience.
"Jack, we have lost the mine," said Kalman quietly. And he told the story.
As he concluded the tale, French's listlessness vanished. He was his own man again.
"We will ride down and see Brown," he said with decision.
"No use," said Kalman, wishing to save him further pain. "Brown saw the entry at the Land Office, and the agent plainly told him nothing could be done."
"Well, we won't just lie down yet, boy," said Jack. "Come along—or—well, perhaps I'd better go alone. You saddle my horse."
In half an hour French appeared clean shaven, dressed in his "civilization clothes," and looking his old self again.