“Thirty haid. That’ll be three thousand dollars, enough to buy out these three homesteaders an’ to spare. I saw Sims yesterday an’ asked him if he’d sell. He thought I was razzin’ him. He’d almost give that hundred an’ sixty acres away, just to get out. He’s been there three years, an’ this is the sixth dry year. He’s ruined, an’ so are his neighbors. They can’t stick it out. Wal, we’ll not drive any hard deals, Ben. It’s a cinch Less Setter has his eye on them homesteads. He’s buyin’ up for Hart Blaine. They aim to buy for a few hundred. I heard at Hammell that Blaine had bought a dozen ranches heahaboots, ’most for nothin’.”

“Pretty tough on these little ranches, caught at the end of this long drought. I don’t think much of Hart Blaine.”

“Wal, Blaine has lost his haid. He was always poor. Then he got rich quick. Like a drunken cowboy with money! An’ don’t overlook that he’s fallen under the influence of Less Setter.”

“Heigho! it’s a great world,” sighed Ben. “Let’s get this horse deal over quick, unless you want to kill me. Thirty of my last and best horses! That leaves me ten. Ten! I wonder what ones I’ll keep.”

“Wal, let me pick out ten for you,” suggested Nevada, grinning.

“I should say not. Let’s see. Gray and Knockeye, of course, Juniper, Brushy, Modoc Black, Gander. That’s my six favorites. I’d starve to death before I’d part with them. Now to choose between Sandy and Bess, Simple Simon and Blue Boy——”

“Aw, say, Ben, you’re not hesitatin’ aboot Sandy, are you? I love that hoss. Shore you never gave him to me, but——”

“For Heaven’s sake, take Sandy now. He’s yours,” burst out Ben, wildly, stamping up and down the little cabin room. “You see for yourself how hard it is.”

“Shore it’s hard, Ben. But you mustn’t be silly. Keep the hosses you love best. So will I. That’ll be aboot a dozen haid in all. An’ that’s plenty. We’ve got to ketch another string, an’ say, if we happen—excuse me, pard—when we happen to ketch California Red, are you goin’ to get stuck on him an’ keep him?”

“I’ll never keep him. I’ll give him to Ina secretly, then sell him to her dad. That’d tickle her, I’ll bet. Oh, she’s a thoroughbred.”

“Ahuh! I’m shore anxious to get a look at that girl…. Wal, let’s throw these packs on a hoss an’ rustle out to the pasture an’ get the dirty deed done.”

Modoc, the Indian, had been standing outside with two pack animals. When these were ready he led them away toward the barn while Ben and Nevada mounted their horses and rode at brisk trot along the river trail to the pasture.

Ben had fenced about one hundred acres of his land, a long strip five acres deep bordering the river. It was a piece of lowland, covered with sage and grass, and near the edge of the water still fertile enough to take care of his horses.