"Mother, I reckon you'll never let Bobby be a cowboy," teased Pan, with a smile.

"Never," she murmured fervently.

"Well, he might do worse," went on Pan thoughtfully. "But we'll make a plain rancher of him, with a leaning to horses. How's that?"

"I'd like it, but not in a wild country like this," she replied.

"Reckon we'd do well to figure on a permanent home in Arizona, where both summers and winters are pleasant. I've heard a lot about Arizona.

It's a land of wonderful gra.s.s and sage ranges, fine forests, canyons.

We'll go there, some day."

"Then, Pan, you've come home to stay?" she asked, with agitation.

"Yes, Mother," he a.s.sured her, squeezing the worn hand that kept reaching to touch him, as if to see if he were real. Then Bobby engaged his attention. "Hey, you rascal, let go. That's my gun....

Bad sign, Mother. Bobby's as keen about a gun as I was over a horse.... There, Bobby, now it's safe to play with.... Mother, there's a million things to talk about. But we'll let most of them go for the present. You say Alice is in school. When will she be home?"

"Late this afternoon. Pan," she went on, hesitatingly, "Lucy Blake lives with us now."

"Yes, I met Lucy outside," replied Pan, drawing a deep breath. "But first about Dad. I didn't take time to talk much with him. I wanted to see you.... Is Dad well in health?"

"He's well enough. Really he does two men's work. Worry drags him down."

"We'll cheer him up. At Littleton I heard a little about Dad's bad luck. Now you tell me everything."

"There's little to tell," she replied, sadly. "Your father made foolish deals back in Texas, the last and biggest of which was with Jard Hardman. There came a bad year--_anno seco_, the Mexicans call it. Failure of crops left your father ruined. He lost the farm. He found later that Hardman had cheated him out of his cattle. We followed Hardman out here. Our neighbors, the Blakes had come ahead of us. Hardman not only wouldn't be square about the cattle deal but he knocked your father out again, just as he had another start. In my mind it was worse than the cattle deal. We bought a homestead from a man named Sprague. His wife wanted to go home to Missouri. This homestead had water, good soil, some timber, and an undeveloped mining claim that turned out well. Then along comes Jard Hardman with claims, papers, witnesses, and law back of him. He claimed to have gotten possession of the homestead from the original owner. It was all a lie.

But they put us off.... Then your father tried several things that did not pan out. Now we're here--and he has to work in the wagon shop to pay the rent."

"Ah-huh!" replied Pan, relieving his oppressed breast with an effort.

"And now about Lucy. How does it come she's living with you?"

"She had no home, poor girl," replied his mother, hastily. "She came out here with her father and uncle. Her mother died soon after you left us. Jim Blake had interests with Hardman back in Texas. He talked big--and drank a good deal. He and Hardman quarreled. It was the same big deal that ruined your father. But Jim came to New Mexico with Hardman. They were getting along all right when we arrived. But, trouble soon arose--and that over Lucy.... Young d.i.c.k Hardman--you certainly ought to remember him, Pan--fell madly in love with Lucy.

d.i.c.k always was a wild boy. Here in Marco he went the pace. Well, bad as Jard Hardman is he loves that boy and would move heaven and earth for him. Lucy despised d.i.c.k. The more he ran after her the more she despised him. Also the more she flouted d.i.c.k the wilder he drank and gambled. Now here comes the pitiful part of it. Jim Blake went utterly to the bad, so your father says, though Lucy hopes and believes she can save him. I do too. Jim was only weak. Jard Hardman ruined him. Finally d.i.c.k enlisted his father in his cause and they forced Jim to try to make Lucy marry d.i.c.k. She refused. She left her father's place and went to live with her Uncle Bill, who was an honest fine man.

But he was shot in the Yellow Mine. By accident, they gave out, but your father scouts that idea... Oh, those dreadful gambling h.e.l.ls!

Life is cheap here.... Lucy came to live with us. She taught the school. But she had to give that up. d.i.c.k Hardman and other wild young fellows made her life wretched. Besides she was never safe. We persuaded her to give it up. And then the--the worst happened."

Mrs. Smith paused, wiping her wet eyes, and appeared to dread further disclosure. She lifted an appealing hand to Pan.

"What--what was it, Mother?" he asked, fearfully.

"Didn't--she--Lucy tell you anything?" faltered his mother.

"Yes--the greatest thing in the world--that she loved me," burst out Pan with exultant pa.s.sion.

"Oh, how terrible!"

"No, Mother, not that, but beautiful, wonderful, glorious.... Go on."

"Then--then they put Jim Blake in jail," began Mrs. Smith.

"What for?" flashed Pan.

"To hold him there, pending action back in Texas. Jim Blake was a cattle thief. There's little doubt of that, your father says. You know there's law back east, at least now in some districts. Well, Jard Hardman is holding Jim in jail. It seems Hardman will waive trial, provided--provided.... Oh, how can I tell you!"

"My G.o.d! I see!" cried Pan, leaping in fierce pa.s.sion. "They will try to force Lucy to marry d.i.c.k to save her father."

"Yes. That's it ... and Pan, my son ... she has consented!"

"So that was what made her act so strange! ... Poor Lucy! d.i.c.k Hardman was a skunk when he was a kid. Now he's a skunk-bitten coyote.

Oh, but this is a mess!"

"Pan, what _can_ you do?" implored his mother.

"Lucy _hasn't_ married him yet? Tell me quick," cried Pan suddenly.

"Oh, no. She has only promised. She doesn't trust those men. She wants papers signed to clear her father. They laugh at her. But Lucy is no fool. When she sacrifices herself it'll not be for nothing."

Pan slowly sank down into the chair, and his brooding gaze fastened on the big blue gun with which Bobby was playing. It fascinated Pan.

Sight of it brought the strange cold sensation that seemed like a wind through his being.

"Mother, how old is Lucy?" he asked, forcing himself to be calm.

"She's nearly seventeen, but looks older."

"Not of age yet. Yes, she looks twenty. She's a woman, Mother."

"What did Lucy do and say when she saw you?" asked his mother, with a woman's intense curiosity.

"Ha! She did and said enough," replied Pan radiantly. "I didn't recognize her. Think of that, Mother."

"Tell me, son," implored Mrs. Smith.

"Mother, she ran right into my arms.... We just met, Mother, and the old love leaped."

"Mercy, what a terrible situation for you both, especially for Lucy....

Pan, what _can_ you do?"

"Mother, I don't know, I can't think. It's too sudden. But I'll never let her marry d.i.c.k Hardman. Why, only last night I saw a painted little hussy hanging over him. Bad as that poor girl must be, she's too good for him.... _He_ doesn't worry me, nor his schemes to get Lucy. But how to save Jim Blake."

"Pan, you think it can be done?"

"My dear Mother, I know it. Only I can't think now. I'm new here.

And handicapped by concern for you, for Lucy, for Dad.... Lord, if I was back in the Cimarron--it'd be easy!"

"My boy, don't be too concerned about Lucy, or me or your dad," replied his mother with surprising coolness. "I mean don't let concern for us balk you. Thank G.o.d you have come home to us. I feel a different woman. I am frightened, yes. For--for I've heard of you. What a name for my boy!"

"Well, you're game, Mother," said Pan, with a laugh, as he embraced her. "That'll help a lot. If only Lucy will be like you."

"She has a heart of fire. Only save her father, Pan, and you will be blessed with such woman's love as you never dreamed of. It may be hard, though, for you to change her mind."