"Just my luck," the other complained, after recognition and
greeting. "Only one of the party that the scurvy attacked. I've
been through hell. The other three are all at work and healthy,
getting grub-stake to prospect up White River this winter. Anson's
earning twenty-five a day at carpentering, Liverpool getting twenty
logging for the saw-mill, and Big Bill's getting forty a day as
chief sawyer. I tried my best, and if it hadn't been for scurvy .
. ."

"Sure, son, you done your best, which ain't much, you being
naturally irritable and hard from too much business. Now I'll tell
you what. You ain't fit to work crippled up this way. I'll pay
your passage with the captain in kind remembrance of the voyage you
gave me, and you can lay up and take it easy the rest of the trip.
And what are your circumstances when you land at San Francisco?"

Charles Crayton shrugged his shoulders.

"Tell you what," Tarwater continued. "There's work on the ranch
for you till you can start business again."

"I could manage your business for you--" Charles began eagerly.

"No, siree," Tarwater declared emphatically. "But there's always
post-holes to dig, and cordwood to chop, and the climate's fine . .
. "

Tarwater arrived home a true prodigal grandfather for whom the
fatted calf was killed and ready. But first, ere he sat down at
table, he must stroll out and around. And sons and daughters of