An' I can say all modest-like that I never seen the white man who could track a hoss or a steer or a man with me.

Afore I knowed it two years slipped by, an' all at once I got homesick, en' purled a bridle south.
"Things at home had changed.

I never got over that homecomin'.

Mother was dead an' in her grave.

Father was a silent, broken man, killed already on his feet.