hundred and forty Michigan acres, forty of it cleared, for the
price of four yoke of oxen, and a wagon, and had started across the
Plains.

"And we turned off at Fort Hall, where the Oregon emigration went
north'ard, and swung south for Californy," was his way of
concluding the narrative of that arduous journey. "And Bill Ping
and me used to rope grizzlies out of the underbrush of Cache Slough
in the Sacramento Valley."

Years of freighting and mining had followed, and, with a stake
gleaned from the Merced placers, he satisfied the land-hunger of
his race and time by settling in Sonoma County.

During the ten years of carrying the mail across Tarwater Township,
up Tarwater Valley, and over Tarwater Mountain, most all of which
land had once been his, he had spent his time dreaming of winning
back that land before he died. And now, his huge gaunt form more
erect than it had been for years, with a glinting of blue fires in
his small and close-set eyes, he was lifting his ancient chant
again.

"There he goes now--listen to him," said William Tarwater.

"Nobody at home," laughed Harris Topping, day labourer, husband of
Annie Tarwater, and father of her nine children.

The kitchen door opened to admit the old man, returning from
feeding his horses. The song had ceased from his lips; but Mary
was irritable from a burnt hand and a grandchild whose stomach