CHAPTER III.
The Quarrel Renewed.
That night, by a close scratch, we made a little place Frosty said was one of the Bay State line-camps.

I didn't know what a line-camp was, and it wasn't much for style, but it looked good to me, after riding nearly all day in a snow-storm.

Frosty cooked dinner and I made the coffee, and we didn't have such a bad time of it, although the storm held us there for two days.
We sat by the little cook-stove and told yarns, and I pumped Frosty just about dry of all he'd ever heard about dad.
I hadn't intended to write to dad, but, after hearing all I did, I couldn't help handing out a gentle hint that I was on.

When I'd been at the Bay State Ranch for a week, I wrote him a letter that, I felt, squared my account with him.

It was so short that I can repeat every word now.
I said: DEAR DAD: I am here.