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with your child even if the whole world believes it to be your father's."
    She rose beneath me, seeking and demanding my life force. In a sudden frenzy, I tore myself from her, just as my strength drained from me. I fell across the bed near her feet.
    The agony passed and I opened my eyes. Her head was turned into the pillow and she was crying. Silently I got to my feet and left the room.
    All the way down the hall to my room, I kept thinking, my father cared, he really cared. Even if I didn't see it, he loved me.
    He loved me. But never enough to show it.
    By the time I got to my room, the tears were rolling down my cheeks.

 
7
     

    I WAS ON THE TINY INDIAN PINTO THAT I HAD WHEN I was ten years old, galloping insanely across the dunes. The panic of flight rose within me but I didn't know what I was running from. I looked back over my shoulder.
    My father was following me on the big strawberry roan. His jacket was open and blowing in the wind and I could see the heavy watch chain stretched tight across his chest. I heard his voice, weird and eerie in the wind. "Come back here, Jonas. Damn you, come back!"
    I turned and urged the pinto to even greater speed, I used my bat unmercifully and there were tiny red welts on the horse's side from where I had hit him. Gradually, I began to pull away.
    Suddenly, as if from nowhere, Nevada was beside me, riding easily on his big black horse. He looked across at me calmly. His voice was low. "Go back, Jonas. It's your father calling you. What kind of a son are you, anyway?"
    I didn't answer, just kept urging my horse on. I looked back again over my shoulder.
    My father was pulling his horse to a stop. His face was very sad. "Look after him, Nevada." I could hear him only faintly, for there was a great distance between us. "Look after him, for I haven't the time." He turned the strawberry roan around and began to gallop away.
    I stopped my pony and turned to look after him. He was already growing smaller in the distance. Even his outline was fading in the sudden tears that leapt to my eyes. I wanted to cry out after him, "Don't go, Father." But the words stuck in my throat.
    I sat up in bed, my skin wet with perspiration. I shook my head to get the echo of the dream out of it. Through the open window I could hear the sound of horses coming from the corral in back of the house.
    I went over to the window and looked out. The sun was at five o'clock and casting a long morning shadow. Down in the corral, several of the hands were leaning against the fence, watching a rider trying to break a wiry bay colt. I squinted my eyes against the sun.
    I turned from the window quickly. That was the kind of medicine I needed. Something that would jar the empty feeling out of me, that would clean the bitter taste from my mouth. I pulled on a pair of Levi's and an old blue shirt and started from the room.
    I headed down the corridor to the back stairs. I met Robair just as I came to them. He was carrying a tray with a glass of orange juice and a pot of steaming coffee. He looked at me without surprise.
    "Good morning, Mr. Jonas."
    "Good morning, Robair," I replied.
    "Mr. McAllister is here to see you. I showed him into the study."
    I hesitated a moment. The corral would have to wait. There were more important things I had to do. "Thank you, Robair," I said, turning for the front staircase.
    "Mr. Jonas," he called after me.
    I stopped and looked back at him.
    "If you're goin' to talk business, Mr. Jonas, I find you always talk better if you got something in your stomach."
    I looked at him, then at the tray. I nodded and sat down on the top step. Robair set the tray down beside me. I picked up the glass of orange juice and drained it. Robair poured the coffee and lifted the cover from the toast. I sipped at the coffee. Robair was right. The empty feeling was in my stomach. It was going away now. I picked up a slice of toast.
    * * *
    If McAllister noticed the way I was dressed, he made no comment about it.