"Rankin," I said, "is one of the horrors I'm trying to leave behind, dad." But dad had gone back to his correspondence.

"In regard to that Clark, Marsden, and Clark affair, I think, Crawford, it would be well--" I closed the door quietly and left them.

It was dad's way, and I laughed a little to myself as I was going back to my room to round up Rankin and set him to packing.

I meant to stand over him with a club this time, if necessary, and see that I got what I wanted packed.
The next evening I started again for Montana--and I didn't go in dad's private car, either.

Save for the fact that I had no grievance with him, and that we ate dinner alone together and drank a bottle of extra dry to the success of my pilgrimage, I went much as I had gone before: humbly and unheralded except for a telegram for some one to meet me at Osage.
Rankin, I may say, did not go with me, though I did as dad had suggested and offered to take him along and get him a job herding sheep.