“Howdy, Ben!” he called, as he slid out of his saddle. “Made a jim–dandy deal with the hosses. Paid all your debts an’ got six months’ grub. How about that, old timer?”

“Nevada, if you’re not lying, it’s sure great,” replied Ben, heartily.

“It’s true, Ben, I’m darn glad to say,” said Nevada. “An’ here’s a letter from your sister. I just rode over to the ranch, sent a kid in to tell Hettie, an’ waited.”

“Oh, but you’re a life–saver!” declared Ben, as he eagerly grasped the thick envelope Nevada held out. “I was feeling pretty blue.”

“We had supper in town, an’ have been ridin’ ever since,” returned Nevada, wearily.

“Say, you must be tired and hungry…. And how’re you, Modoc?”

“Bad. Town no good for Indian,” replied the Modoc, with a grin.

“Ben, I wouldn’t trade this camp for any town on earth,” declared Nevada.

“Neither would I, if you and Modoc were here. It’s been lonesome,” said Ben, as he set to the task of unpacking the three laden horses. Presently Modoc led away the smoking wet animals.

“Nevada, this is an awful lot of stuff,” continued Ben, surveying the large assortment of boxes, bags, and bales.

“Bought every darn thing I could think of,” rejoined Nevada, mildly.

“First time I’ve felt rich for years. Now I’ll pack this outfit inside and then get some breakfast.”

It took all of the small storeroom, the kitchen shelves, and half of the loft of Ben’s cabin to hold the new supplies. While Ben worked at this task Nevada lay on one of the narrow red–blanketed couches and talked.

“Got an all–fired lot of news,” he said, complacently, “if I can only remember. Reckon though it won’t make any difference how it comes…. Ben, your dad has made a pile of money. Sold two thousand acres that used to be under water, they said. The drainin’ of Tule Lake made your dad rich. But he ain’t the only one. Hart Blaine had the most of that low land. I loafed around Hammell in the saloons an’ stores, waitin’ for it to get dark, so’s I could sneak over to your dad’s ranch. An’ I shore asked questions. All the ranchers livin’ away from Tule Lake drains have been hard hit by the drought. Stock poor an’ grass scarce. It’s an ill wind that blows nobody good. This dry spell hasn’t hurt your dad or Blaine, or any of them farmers in the middle of the basin. But if Forlorn River dries up this summer they’re goin’ to be in the same boat with the others…. I run into that McAdam guy an’ he wasn’t overly civil askin’ about you. I strung him good an’ plenty when all the time I wanted to slam him on his slick jaw. One of the waitresses told me he had a cinch on the Blaine girl—I forgot her name—the one that’s been away to school. An’—”

“Was it Ina?” interrupted Ben, quickly.

“Yep, shore was. Sort of pretty little handle to Blaine, huh?”