Mr. Packard's cattle ranch was located in one of the extensive parks for which Colorado is noted. It included several square miles of territory. The cattleman had erected a dwelling, covering a good deal of ground, but only one story high. While it was comfortable, it was easy to see that it was the home of a bachelor.

He had as housekeeper the widow of a herdsman, or perhaps I may say, cowboy, who had died a year before. She cooked and took care of the house.

"Well, Rupert," he said, "this is my home. Mrs. Jones, get ready two rooms for my friends here. Uncle John, you are the oldest and shall have the choice."

"Any room will do for me, Giles," said the old man modestly.

"You shall have as good a one as the house affords."

"You treat me differently from Eben Jackson. He gave me a small room in the attic."

"And did his wife allow that?"

"She had very little to say. Her husband's will is law in that household."

"I am sorry for her. She deserved a better fate. As a girl she was good-hearted and had a cheerful disposition."

"She is greatly changed. I am afraid her husband has taught her to be selfish. She seemed to have little more consideration for me than Eben."

Rupert found that Mr. Packard was a cattle owner on a large scale. He had a great number of cowboys in his employ, over whom he exercised supervision.

"Is all your property in cattle, Giles?" asked his uncle.

"No. I have mining interests. The money I have made in the cattle business I have invested, at least partially, in mines and mining claims. I don't believe in having all my eggs in one basket."

"You seem to have done well in coming out West."

"Yes, when I came out here I probably was not worth over two thousand dollars all told. Now I am worth somewhere from seventy-five to one hundred thousand."

"I should think you would marry."

Giles Packard shook his head.

"When a man reaches the age of forty-five unmarried," he said, "he had better remain so. After that, marriage is a lottery."

Mr. Packard's guests found that he lived in a generous style. His housekeeper was an excellent cook, and his table was well supplied. But the days seemed long without employment. Rupert was supplied with a saddle-horse, and rode far and wide with his host, but John Plympton had reached an age when a man enjoys home comforts better than out-of-door exercise.

"Giles," he said, on the third day, "I am tired of doing nothing. Suppose you bring out your books and give me something to do."

"I will, Uncle John. When I was in Denver I bought some new books, and I will commission you to transfer my accounts from the old ones. I never was much of a bookkeeper, and I am not sure whether you can understand my entries. However, you will be able to refer to me when you get puzzled."

The old man felt quite happy when set to work in his old business. As Mr. Packard's books covered a period of over fifteen years he found the task by no means a short one, but this pleased him all the more.

"I like to feel that I am earning my living," he said.

"What do you think of me as a bookkeeper, Uncle John?"

"I think you would find it hard to obtain a position in any first-class house," answered the old man, smiling.

"I have no doubt you are right. However, I never was ambitious to become a bookkeeper. What salary were you accustomed to earn?"

"A hundred dollars a month."

"You couldn't get rich on that. I have done better than that. Every man to his trade, as some wise man has said."

"Are you fond of hunting, Rupert?" asked Giles Packard one day.

"When I lived in the country I used to go gunning sometimes."

"We have some very good hunting here. I should like to go with you, but at present my business will not permit. I think, however, that I can find you a companion, if you would like to try it."

"I should," answered Rupert, promptly.

"There is a man who lives about three miles from me, in a small house near the river. He is a shiftless sort of fellow, but he is a good hunter. I will offer him pay to go with you, and his living during the trip. You will find it pleasant to stay about a week. I suppose you won't mind roughing it?'

"No, that is what I shall like."

"Then I shall send for Ben—his name is Ben Boone—and you can start bright and early Monday morning."