I wouldn't mind writing stories myself." Gene kicked a log back into the flame where it would do the most good.

His big, square-shouldered figure stood out sharply against the glow.
Thurston, watching him meditatively, wanted to tell him that he was the sort of whom good stories are made.

But for men like Gene--strong, purposeful, brave, the West would lose half its charm.

He was like Bob in many ways, and for that Thurston liked him and, stayed with him in the line-camp when he might have been taking his ease at the home ranch.
It was wild and lonely down there between the bare hills and the frozen river, but the wildness and the loneliness appealed to him.

It was primitive and at times uncomfortable.