Until his father had spoken to him about it, Bud had not thought much about what he would do when his school days were over.

He had taken life as it was presented to him week by week, month by month.

He had fulfilled his mother's hopes and had learned to make music.

He had lived up to his father's unspoken standards of a cowman.

He had made a "Hand" ever since his legs were long enough to reach the stirrups of a saddle.