like they do theirs? You're too damned tight mouthed. You've been around that old hermit Al Kane so much you're gettin' to be like him." But Pete kept his mouth shut. He didn't like the way Fred stared in silence nor did any of the fellows when they tried to argue with him.

Harold finished his work, picked up his cap and books. Pete handed him a handful of soiled, torn magazines. Harold's eyes brightened as he took them. He started for the door.

"Just a minute, son," Fred said gently. He reached in his pocket, took out two quarters and tossed them to him. "Buy yourself something."

Harold, open-mouthed, blinked. Unbelieving he looked at the money then at Fred. It was too wonderful to be true. Not only had his idol spoken to him but he had given him a present. A disarming smile from Fred put him at ease. "Thank you very much, sir," he managed shyly.

With Harold out of hearing distance Fred asked Pete if the magazines were all Pete paid him.

"Sure," Pete snorted. "That and his hair cut once in a while. He's lucky to get it." Aiming at the cuspidor he spat, missed, tobacco juice splattered the floor. He wiped his mouth on his sleeve. "Too bad his ole man died. He was a regular guy. He'd brought up the kid right. Thank you very much, sir. Did you get that? Regular kids take stuff and say nuthin."

Fred rode to Al Kane's cabin, snug among pines and shrub oaks on the hill overlooking Glenbrook. He found the indestructible old lawyer sitting contentedly with his friends-a library that lined the walls. He told him about Harold and the magazines. "Ever since I saw him feeding Blackie I haven't been able to get him off my mind. I knew there was something different about him. There had to be. Blackie would have kicked the

daylights out of him if his horse sense hadn't told him the kid wasn't like the others. Back on the range I couldn't think of anything else."

He paused, smiled, then shrugged. "I guess its because I saw myself in him. I heard the nasty digs my father and my brothers used to give me when I wouldn't go hunting with them. Killing vicious animals is one thing but deer I couldn't do it. They're so timid, defenseless. I'd hide when they brought their kill home, hung the bloody deer up and had their pictures taken with them. Whenever it came time to slaughter our hogs and sheep. I'd take food and go up on the mountain and stay until it was over. I always hated the sounds and smells of dying animals-that bloody mess afterward. I had my own horse and a wonderful Irish Setter. While I was with them I didn't need anyone. My mother used to look at me, shake her head and say I was a strange young un, that I wasn't cut out to live with regular folks. She hated to think what would become of me. Then she'd give me a look of disgust and say 'thank God I don't have to worry about your brothers, they're natural.'

"When we got old enough to date girls, hell broke loose. To keep peace I'd go out with groups but never alone with a girl. My brothers'd come home and brag how easy the girls were to make. Because I kept still they sneered at me and called me dirty names. Finally Frank knocked up a girl and had to marry her. Soon after that Mel had to marry one he'd been chasing. Mother and dad made awful scenes. Mother went to bed with a sick headache and didn't know how she'd ever live through the disgrace of it but I could tell she and dad were really proud of them. That started them working on me. Why wasn't I going with girls? Didn't I know mother's friends were saying nasty things

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