There were greetings to the driver, who appeared well known to them.
Jack Belllounds did not look at them.

He threw a bag out of the buckboard and then clambered down slowly, to go toward the porch.
"Wal, Jack--my son--I'm sure glad you're back home," said the old rancher, striding forward.

His voice was deep and full, singularly rich.
But that was the only sign of feeling he showed.
"Howdy--dad!" replied the son, not heartily, as he put out his hand to his father's.
Jack Belllounds's form was tail, with a promise of his father's bulk.
But he did not walk erect; he slouched a little.

His face was pale, showing he had not of late been used to sun and wind.

Any stranger would have seen the resemblance of boy to man would have granted the handsome boldness, but denied the strength.