Jed watched the effect of each new regulation —as registering each horse allowed to graze upon free meadow grass; on limiting the number of paying visitors- destroy a way of life, and his father. Sure, the government allowed Smith & Son to keep the homestead, and limited packing business, but as with most "do-good" programs the bureaucrat who had thought up this "creative answer," had no understanding of what it meant to be a free, mountain born, man.

Father and son both gave up. Jed left for college. Paid his own way through, working summers. It was tough. The first two years at Washington State, stuck in the middle of endless wheat fields, he slept in the back of an old Ford pick-up, showering, whenever possible in the gym. Jed had intended to become a Doctor of Veterinary Science.

What happened instead was that he finally graduated with a Ph. D. and became a Professor of Anthropology. That choice came about once Jed realized that there were people, who studied other people, for example, his father, and tried to understand their way of life. But, it had been a girl who had first sparked his interest.

The story of choosing a career by following a good looking pair of legs into a classroom is an old one. Jed's was a slight bit different. He married the girl. He didn't stand a chance. Here was a kid that had been raised without television, electric lights, telephones. He had always been a bit unsure of how his values fit those of accepted society. And, having attended a one room school where the effort involved in assembling a class from scattered ski resorts and ranches curtailed any extracurricular social events- Jed had a distorted view of the opposite sex.

This was not male chauvinism. An early encounter with a rancher's daughter who could out-rope the best cowhand in the county had shown him that gals could compete in anything they chose. Jed's downfall, if you want to call it that, was old-fashioned respect- strengthened by losing a mother, at age ten- for all women.

There was just no way, no how, Jed could handle tears. "People accuse me of changing hats, from a Stetson xxxxx felt, to a tweed trilby, whenever it is to my advantage," he had tried to explain to his best friend after the breakup with Irene. "I guess, from the way I talk, that this statement might be an accurate representation; you bet. But, this trait is not a conscious one. It is more a reaction to a culture shock. Most of the time I 'can walk with kings -Kipling- but not lose the common touch.' The one place I haven't been able to cross over between cultures, is understanding women."