The first door was open, and from it issued voices; first a shrill, petulant boy's complaint, and then a man's deep, slow, patient reply.
Lem Billings knocked on the door-jamb.
"Wal, what's wanted ?" called Belllounds.
"Boss, thar's a man wantin' to see you," replied Lem.
Heavy steps approached the doorway and it was filled with the large figure of the rancher.

Wade remembered Belllounds and saw only a gray difference in years.
"Good mornin', Lem, an' good moinin' to you, stranger," was the rancher's greeting, his bold, blue glance, honest and frank and keen, with all his long experience of men, taking Wade in with one flash.
Lem discreetly walked to the end of the porch as another figure, that of the son who resembled the father, filled the doorway, with eyes less kind, bent upon the visitor.
"My name's Wade.

I'm over from Meeker way, hopin' to find a job with you," said Wade.
"Glad to meet you," replied Belllounds, extending his huge hand to shake Wade's.

"I need you, sure bad.

What's your special brand of work ?" "I reckon any kind." "Set down, stranger," replied Belllounds, pulling up a chair.