Daylight could not persuade himself to keep to the
travelled roads that day, and another cut across country
to Glen Ellen brought him upon a canon that so blocked
his way that he was glad to follow a friendly cow-path.
This led him to a small frame cabin. The doors
and windows were open, and a cat was nursing a litter
of kittens in the doorway, but no one seemed at home.
He descended the trail that evidently crossed the
canon. Part way down, he met an old man coming
up through the sunset. In his hand he carried
a pail of foamy milk. He wore no hat, and in
his face, framed with snow-white hair and beard, was
the ruddy glow and content of the passing summer day.
Daylight thought that he had never seen so contented-looking
a being.
“How old are you, daddy?” he queried.
“Eighty-four,” was the reply. “Yes,
sirree, eighty-four, and spryer than most.”
“You must a’ taken good care of yourself,”
Daylight suggested.
“I don’t know about that. I ain’t
loafed none. I walked across the Plains with
an ox-team and fit Injuns in ’51, and I was a
family man then with seven youngsters. I reckon
I was as old then as you are now, or pretty nigh on
to it.”
“Don’t you find it lonely here?”
The old man shifted the pail of milk and reflected.
“That all depends,” he said oracularly.
“I ain’t never been lonely except when
the old wife died. Some fellers are lonely in
a crowd, and I’m one of them. That’s
the only time I’m lonely, is when I go to ’Frisco.
But I don’t go no more, thank you ’most
to death. This is good enough for me. I’ve
ben right here in this valley since ’54—one
of the first settlers after the Spaniards.”
Daylight started his horse, saying:—
“Well, good night, daddy. Stick with it.
You got all the young bloods skinned, and I guess
you’ve sure buried a mighty sight of them.”
The old man chuckled, and Daylight rode on, singularly
at peace with himself and all the world. It
seemed that the old contentment of trail and camp
he had known on the Yukon had come back to him.
He could not shake from his eyes the picture of the
old pioneer coming up the trail through the sunset
light. He was certainly going some for eighty-four.
The thought of following his example entered Daylight’s
mind, but the big game of San Francisco vetoed the
idea.
“Well, anyway,” he decided, “when
I get old and quit the game, I’ll settle down
in a place something like this, and the city can go
to hell.”
