He
drew his brush across the last shingle of all. Something seemed to
click. Swiftly the gates shut, the strange country receded into infinite
distance. With a rush like the sucking of water into a vacuum the
everyday world drew close. Bob, his faculties once more in their
accustomed seat, looked about him as one awakened. His hour was over.
The change had taken place.
Thorne was standing in the doorway with Amy, their dictation finished.
"All done?" said he. "Well, you did a thorough job. It's the kind that
will last."
"I'm right on deck when it comes to painting things red," retorted Bob.
"What next?"
"Next," said Thorne, "I want you to help one of the boys split some
cedar posts. We've got a corral or so to make."
Bob descended slowly from the ladder, balancing the remainder of the red
stain. Thorne looked at him curiously.
"How do you like it as far as you've gone?" he permitted himself to ask.
"This isn't quite up to the romantic idea of rangering, is it?"
"Well," said Bob with conviction, "I suppose it may sound foolish; but I
never was surer of anything in my life than that I've struck the right
job.
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