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Show page 74 He so soon lost himself among them, these men of the wide spaces. He did this easily, for he was Al, the boy, and a boy and his dream have always found a way and a place. His growth began. Fritz, the foreman Jim, and the hands were his heroes, the stout-hearted heroes of youth. They rode, corralled and branded, carried in their clothes the smell of horses and cattle. He was of that mind and that time when things go on and on, the same day after day. His song was the youth-song. Jim took him in hand, showed him the creek where muskrats played; how to catch grasshoppers and keep them alive for fishing; and later, how to sit the saddle and cowpony the reins. Jim threw him in the creek in playful friendliness to show him who was man and who was boy. Jim, the foreman with the big frame, big heart, red beard and shining baldness, was horse xreangler and boy xre-angler and by firmness of heart and expansiveness of spirit was ideally suited for both. Flora and the kitchen and the aroma of apple pie were there, all the scents of homestead. And srith the glamour and the color a wild joyfulness and surrender found their way into the growing, yearning, awakening boy. The youth rode with the men, worked with the men. A bunkhouse room x*as his. A saddle was his, and finally a horse, the supreme badge of being, was his. It was his horse for as long as he stayed. For sure he would stay forever. Together, Al and his horse were everywhere and everything was theirs to conquer or to tame. Each carried largess, the |
