Another man came briskly up, carrying papers in his hand.

"Are you the agent, Mr. Smith?" asked Pan.

"I am thet air, young fellar."

"Can I see you a moment, on business?"

"Come right in." He ushered Pan into his office and shut the door.

"My name's Smith," began Pan hurriedly. "I'm hunting for my dad...

Bill Smith. Do you know him--if he's in Marco?"

"Bill Smith's cowboy! Wal, put her thar," burst out the other, heartily, shoving out a big hand. His surprise and pleasure were marked. "Know Bill? Wal, I should smile. We're neighbors an' good friends."

Pan was so overcome by relief and sudden joy that he could not speak for a moment, but he wrung the agent's hand.

"Wal, now, sort of hit you in the gizzard, hey?" he queried, with humor and sympathy. He released his hand and put it on Pan's shoulder.

"I've heard all about you, cowboy. Bill always talked a lot--until lately. Reckon he's deep hurt thet you never wrote."

"I've been pretty low-down," replied Pan with agitation. "But I never meant to be.... I just drifted along.... Always I was going back home soon. But I didn't. And I haven't written home for two years."

"Wal, forget thet now, son," said the agent kindly. "Boys will be boys, especially cowboys. You've been a wild one, if reports comin' to Bill was true.... But you've come home to make up to him. Lord knows he needs you, boy."

"Yes--I'll make it--up," replied Pan, trying to swallow his emotion.

"Tell me."

"Wal, I wish I had better news to tell," replied Smith, gravely shaking his head. "Your dad's had tough luck. He lost his ranch in Texas, as I reckon you know, an' he follered--the man who'd done him out here to try to make him square up. Bill only got a worse deal. Then he got started again pretty good an' lost out because of a dry year. Now he's workin' in Carter's Wagon Shop. He's a first-rate carpenter. But his wages are small, an' he can't never get no where. He's talked some of wild-hoss wranglin'. But thet takes an outfit, which he ain't got.

I'll give you a hunch, son. If you can stake your dad to an outfit an'

throw in with him you might give him another start."

Pan had on his tongue an enthusiastic reply to that, but the entrance of the curious Matthews halted him.

"Thank you, Mr. Smith," he said, eagerly. "Where'll I find Carter's Wagon Shop?"

"Other end of town. Right down Main Street. You can't miss it."

Pan hurried out, and through the door he heard Matthews' loud voice:

"Carter's Wagon Shop! ... By thunder, I've got the hunch! That cowboy is Panhandle Smith!"

Pan smiled grimly to himself, as he pa.s.sed on out of hearing. The name and fame that had meant so little to him back on the prairie ranges might stand him in good stead out here west of the Rockies. He strode swiftly, his thought reverting to his father. He wanted to run.

Remorse knocked at his heart. Desertion! He had gone off, like so many cowboys, forgetting home, father, mother, duty. They had suffered. Never a word of it had come to him.

The way appeared long, and the line of stone houses and board shacks, never ending. At last he reached the outskirts of Marco and espied the building and sign he was so eagerly seeking. Resounding hammer strokes came from the shop. Outward coolness, an achievement habitual with him when excitement mounted to a certain stage, came with effort and he paused a moment to gaze at the sweeping country, green and purple, dotted by gray rocks, rising to hills gold with autumn colors. His long journey was at an end. In a moment more anxiety would be a thing of the past. Let him only see his father actually in the flesh!

Pan entered the shop. It was open, like any other wagon shop with wood scattered about, shavings everywhere, a long bench laden with tools, a forge. Then he espied a man wielding a hammer on a wheel. His back was turned. But Pan knew him. Knew that back, that s.h.a.ggy head beginning to turn gray, knew even the swing of arm! He approached leisurely. The moment seemed big, splendid.

"Howdy, Dad," he called, at the end of one of the hammer strokes.

His father's lax figure stiffened. He dropped the wheel, then the hammer. But not on the instant did he turn. His posture was strained, doubtful. Then he sprang erect, and whirled. Pan saw his father greatly changed, but how it was impossible to grasp because his seamed face was suddenly transformed.

"For the good--Lord's sake--if it ain't Pan!" he gasped.

"It sure is, Dad. Are you glad to see me?"

"_Glad_! ... Reckon this'll save your mother's life!" and to Pan's amaze he felt himself crushed in his father's arms. That sort of thing had never been Bill Smith's way. He thrilled to it, and tried again to beat back the remorse mounting higher. His father released him, and drew back, as if suddenly ashamed of his emotion. His face, which he had been trying to control, smoothed out.

"Wal, Pan, you come back now--after long ago I gave up hopin'?" he queried, haltingly.

"Yes, Dad," began Pan with swift rush of words. "I'm sorry. I always meant to come home. But one thing and another prevented. Then I never heard of your troubles. I never knew you needed me. You didn't write.

Why didn't you _tell_ me? ... But forget that. I rode the ranges--drifted with the cowboys--till I got homesick. Now I've found you--and well, I want to make up to you and mother."

"Ah-huh! Sounds like music to me," replied Smith, growing slow and cool. He eyed Pan up and down, walked round him twice. Then he suddenly burst out, "Wal, you long-legged strappin' son of a gun! If sight of you ain't good for sore eyes! ... Ah-huh! Look where he packs that gun!"

With slow strange action he reached down to draw Pan's gun from its holster. It was long and heavy, blue, with a deadly look. The father's intent gaze moved from it up to the face of the son. Pan realized what his father knew, what he thought. The moment was sickening for Pan. A cold shadow, forgotten for long, seemed to pa.s.s through his mind.

"Pan, I've kept tab on you for years," spoke his father slowly, "but I'd have heard, even if I hadn't took pains to learn.... Panhandle Smith! You d.a.m.ned hard-ridin', gun-throwin' son of mine! ... Once my heart broke because you drifted with the wild cowpunchers--but now--by G.o.d, I believe I'm glad."

"Dad, never mind range talk. You know how cowboys brag and blow....

I'm not ashamed to face you and mother. I've come clean, Dad."

"But, son, you've--you've used that gun!" whispered Smith, hoa.r.s.ely.

"Sure I have. On some two-legged coyotes an' skunks.... And maybe greasers. I forget."

"Panhandle Smith!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed his father, refusing to take the matter in Pan's light vein. "They know here in Marco.... You're known, Pan, here west of the Rockies."

"Well, what of it?" flashed Pan, suddenly gripped again by that strange cold emotion in the depths of him. "I should think you'd be glad.

Reckon it was all good practice for what I'll have to do out here."

"Don't talk that way. You've read my mind," replied Smith, huskily.

"I'm afraid. I'm almost sorry you came. Yet, right now I feel more of a man than for years."

"Dad, you can tell me everything some other time," rejoined Pan, throwing off the sinister spell. "Now, I only want to know about Mother and Alice."

"They're well an' fine, son, though your mother grieves for you. She never got over that. An' Alice, she's a big girl, goin' to school an'

helpin' with work.... An' Pan, you've got a baby brother nearly two years old."

"Jumping cowbells!" shouted Pan, in delight. "Where are they? Tell me quick."

"We live on a farm a mile or so out. I rent it for most nothin'.

Hall, who owns it, has a big ranch. I've got an option on this farm, an' it sh.o.r.e is a bargain. Hundred an' ten acres, most of it cultivated. Good water, pasture, barn, an' nice little cabin. I work here mornin's, an' out there afternoons. You'll--"

"Stop talking about it. I'll buy the farm," interrupted Pan. "But _where_ is it?"

"Keep right out this road. Second farmhouse," said his father, pointing to the west. "I'd go with you, but I promised some work. But I'll be home at noon.... Hey, hold on. There's more to tell. You'll get a--a jolt. Wait."

But Pan rushed on out of the shop, and took to the road with the stride of a giant. To be compelled to walk, when if he had had his horse he could ride that mile in two minutes! His heart was beating high.