appreciated by the cattlemen.
In some cases ranchers had purchased land from Indians, but the government rarely accepted such purchases as legal. Flint was completely aware of all these factors, and knew what the usual steps were.
"Have you had your hands file claims for you?"
She looked up quickly, and he was aware of the sudden attention from down the table.
"Isn't that illegal?" Nancy asked quietly. "But to reply to your question: yes. We have no choice, and if any of the men wish to keep their claims, they may. If not, we will buy their rights from them. It is either that or lose the ranch my father and uncle worked so hard to build."
"There may be other alternatives," Flint replied. "Are you running cattle on railroad land?"
"No, we are not. Tom Nugent does, and some of the others. Of course, Port Baldwin is. But we never have used any of that graze that we know of, as we hold our cattle farther south."
Long after dinner they sat on the wide veranda and listened to Johnny Otero singing near the bunkhouse.
Flint led Nancy to talking of the ranch, and learned the whole story of her efforts to improve it. He was surprised by her appreciation of the grazing problem, and what she had done about it. One of her hands had been a German who remained at the ranch an entire summer making repairs in the house, building cabinets and furniture. He had told her about grazing methods in Germany and Switzerland, and from him she learned the use of spreader dams, dams built to spread the runoff from hillsides instead of letting it trickle away. Wells had been dug, seeps cleaned out, herds trimmed to avoid overgrazing.
"My father was a great believer in children being given responsibility, Jim. He gave me things to do as early as I can remember. And he used to talk to me about the ranch, and explain everything he did, and why he did it."
"You know how children are. They are always curious and they want to know something about everything. I don't remember a single question of mine that he left unanswered. Sometimes when I would ask him something he thought was intelligent he would give me a gift or take me somewhere that I wanted to go."
"He never gave me anything really big that I didn't earn. Sometimes I had to do very little to earn whatever he gave, but it was usually something. Why, before I knew the ABCs I could name every cattle brand in this part of the state, and I could recognize all the plants that poison stock such as loco weed and larkspur."
Long after he lay in bed he thought of her and the long talk on the darkening porch. He could not remember ever talking so long to any one person, not even Flint.
He was very stiff, and no matter how he turned there was a sore spot. For three days he loafed about the ranch, and during all that time he was aware that Pete Gaddis, Johnny Otero, or a hulking brute of a man with a good-natured face, Julius Bent, was always around.
He learned that Baldwin had tried to get a warrant for his arrest but the local judge refused. "I saw what happened," the judge rasped, "and as far as I am concerned it was justified. It was self-defense."
"He wasn't defending himself," Baldwin replied angrily, "he was attacking!"
"Attack can be the best defense," Judge Hatfield replied grimly. "You had attacked him without provocation, and he had every reason to believe you would attack him again. I am only sorry he stopped shooting when he did."
Baldwin had stalked angrily from the office, and Hatfield had chuckled and returned to his work.
Baldwin was worried, and he did not know why. Shrewd as he was, he often trusted to purely animal instincts, attacking whenever weakness was evident, biding his time when faced with strength, and trusting to a sharp instinct for danger to save him from going too far.
He felt that warning of danger now and it worried him all the more because he was not sure where the danger lay. As he carefully sifted the events of the day through his mind there was one comment
In some cases ranchers had purchased land from Indians, but the government rarely accepted such purchases as legal. Flint was completely aware of all these factors, and knew what the usual steps were.
"Have you had your hands file claims for you?"
She looked up quickly, and he was aware of the sudden attention from down the table.
"Isn't that illegal?" Nancy asked quietly. "But to reply to your question: yes. We have no choice, and if any of the men wish to keep their claims, they may. If not, we will buy their rights from them. It is either that or lose the ranch my father and uncle worked so hard to build."
"There may be other alternatives," Flint replied. "Are you running cattle on railroad land?"
"No, we are not. Tom Nugent does, and some of the others. Of course, Port Baldwin is. But we never have used any of that graze that we know of, as we hold our cattle farther south."
Long after dinner they sat on the wide veranda and listened to Johnny Otero singing near the bunkhouse.
Flint led Nancy to talking of the ranch, and learned the whole story of her efforts to improve it. He was surprised by her appreciation of the grazing problem, and what she had done about it. One of her hands had been a German who remained at the ranch an entire summer making repairs in the house, building cabinets and furniture. He had told her about grazing methods in Germany and Switzerland, and from him she learned the use of spreader dams, dams built to spread the runoff from hillsides instead of letting it trickle away. Wells had been dug, seeps cleaned out, herds trimmed to avoid overgrazing.
"My father was a great believer in children being given responsibility, Jim. He gave me things to do as early as I can remember. And he used to talk to me about the ranch, and explain everything he did, and why he did it."
"You know how children are. They are always curious and they want to know something about everything. I don't remember a single question of mine that he left unanswered. Sometimes when I would ask him something he thought was intelligent he would give me a gift or take me somewhere that I wanted to go."
"He never gave me anything really big that I didn't earn. Sometimes I had to do very little to earn whatever he gave, but it was usually something. Why, before I knew the ABCs I could name every cattle brand in this part of the state, and I could recognize all the plants that poison stock such as loco weed and larkspur."
Long after he lay in bed he thought of her and the long talk on the darkening porch. He could not remember ever talking so long to any one person, not even Flint.
He was very stiff, and no matter how he turned there was a sore spot. For three days he loafed about the ranch, and during all that time he was aware that Pete Gaddis, Johnny Otero, or a hulking brute of a man with a good-natured face, Julius Bent, was always around.
He learned that Baldwin had tried to get a warrant for his arrest but the local judge refused. "I saw what happened," the judge rasped, "and as far as I am concerned it was justified. It was self-defense."
"He wasn't defending himself," Baldwin replied angrily, "he was attacking!"
"Attack can be the best defense," Judge Hatfield replied grimly. "You had attacked him without provocation, and he had every reason to believe you would attack him again. I am only sorry he stopped shooting when he did."
Baldwin had stalked angrily from the office, and Hatfield had chuckled and returned to his work.
Baldwin was worried, and he did not know why. Shrewd as he was, he often trusted to purely animal instincts, attacking whenever weakness was evident, biding his time when faced with strength, and trusting to a sharp instinct for danger to save him from going too far.
He felt that warning of danger now and it worried him all the more because he was not sure where the danger lay. As he carefully sifted the events of the day through his mind there was one comment
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