Will drove a big Winton now, with a hood as long as a coffin and a powerful, panting mutter in its bowels. He drove south from King City over the county road, through the gathering forces of spring, and the meadowlarks flew ahead, bubbling melody from the fence wires. Pico Blanco stood up against the West with a full head of snow, and in the valley the lines of eucalyptus, which stretched across the valley to break the winds, were gleaming silver with new leaves.

When he came to the side road that led into the home draw of the Trask place Will pulled up on the side of the road. He had not spoken since the Winton rolled out of King City. The big motor idled with a deep whisper.

Will, looking straight ahead, said, “Cal—do you want to be partners with me?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I don’t like to take a partner without money. I could lend you the money, but there’s only trouble in that.”

“I can get money,” said Cal.

“How much?”

“Five thousand dollars.”

“You—I don’t believe it.”

Cal didn’t answer.

“I believe it,” said Will. “Borrowed?”

“Yes, sir.”

“What interest?”

“None.”

“That’s a good trick. Where will you get it?”

“I won’t tell you, sir.”

Will shook his head and laughed. He was filled with pleasure. “Maybe I’m being a fool, but I believe you—and I’m not a fool.” He gunned his motor and then let it idle again. “I want you to listen. Do you read the papers?”

“Yes, sir.”

“We’re going to be in this war any minute now.”

“That’s what it looks like.”

“Well, a lot of people think so. Now, do you know the present price of beans? I mean, what can you sell a hundred sacks for in Salinas?”

“I’m not sure. I think about three to three and a half cents a pound.”

“What do you mean you’re not sure? How do you know that?”

“Well, I was thinking about asking my father to let me run the ranch.”

“I see. But you don’t want to farm. You’re too smart. Your father’s tenant is named Rantani. He’s a Swiss Italian, a good farmer. He’s put nearly five hundred acres under cultivation. If we can guarantee him five cents a pound and give him a seed loan, he’ll plant beans. So will every other farmer around here. We could contract five thousand acres of beans.”

Cal said, “What are we going to do with five-cent beans in a three-cent market? Oh, yes! But how can we be sure?”

Will said, “Are we partners?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Yes, Will!”

“Yes, Will.”

“How soon can you get five thousand dollars?”

“By next Wednesday.”

“Shake!” Solemnly the stout man and the lean dark boy shook hands.

Will, still holding Cal’s hand, said, “Now we’re partners. I have a contract with the British Purchasing Agency. And I have a friend in the Quartermaster Corps. I bet we can sell all the dried beans we can find at ten cents a pound or more.”