"That's Jim Reid's place. His iron is the Pot-Hook-S. Jim's stock runs
on the old Acton range, but the homestead belongs to Phil yet. Jim
Reid's a fine man." The Dean spoke stoutly, almost as though he were
making the assertion to convince himself. "Yes, sir, Jim's all right.
Good neighbor; good cowman; square as they make 'em. Some folks seem to
think he's a mite over-bearin' an' rough-spoken sometimes, and he's kind
of quick at suspicionin' everybody; but Jim and me have always got along
the best kind."
Again the Dean was silent, as though he had forgotten the man beside him
in his occupation with thoughts that he could not share.
When they had crossed the valley meadows and, climbing the hill on the
other side, could see the road for several miles ahead, the Dean pointed
to a black object on the next ridge.
"There's Jim's automobile now. They're headin' for Prescott, too.
Kitty's drivin', I reckon. I tell Stella that that machine and Kitty's
learnin' to run the thing is about all the returns that Jim can show for
the money he's spent in educatin' her. I don't mean," he added, with a
quick look at Patches, as though he feared to be misunderstood, "that
Kitty's one of them good-for-nothin' butterfly girls.
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