The Sanity of the Wild

So much for the day. With the coming of dusk, a coolness like a benediction took the place of heat. The south wind gradually died down with the descending sun, until immediately following the setting it was absolutely still; now it sprang up anew, and wandered on until the break of day.

Such an evening in late July found Rankin and Baker stretched out like boys upon a pile of hay in the latter's yard. The big man had just arrived; the old buckboard, with its mouse-colored mustangs, stood just as he had driven it up. Scotty knew him well enough to know that he had come for a purpose, and he awaited its revelation. Rankin slowly filled and lit his pipe, drew thereon until the glow from the bowl was reflected upon his face, and blew a great cloud of smoke out into the gathering dusk.

"Baker," he asked at last, "what are we going to do for the education of these youngsters of ours? We can't let them grow up here like savages."

Scotty rolled over on his side, and leaned his head comfortably in his hand.

"I've thought of that," he answered, "and there seems to me only one of two things to do--either move into civilization, or import a pedagogue." A pause, and a whimsical inflection came into his voice. "Unfortunately, however, neither plan seems exactly practical at this time."

Rankin smoked a minute in silence. "How would it do to move into civilization six months of the year--the Winter six?" he suggested.