much there for a boy to work at. And I hadn't any folks."

"Hump. What's your last name?"

"Morris."

"Any relation to Jack Morris?"

"He was my father."

The sheriff nodded. "Knew him well; he died four years ago. And your
mother died last winter? Little woman, I recall."

"Little, but a lot better than plenty of bigger ones I know of," Dave
asserted, stoutly. "She died of pneumonia."

"Boy, I've held you on my knee when you were about as high as my hand.
But I guess you don't remember that, and I'm mighty sorry to learn
your mother's gone. Dave--is that your name? Well, now, Dave, fight
your grub harder from now on."

The speaker gathered his reins, nodded, and rode away along the barb
wire fence.




CHAPTER VI