“I could if we weren’t running short o’ grub. This journey has cost like the dickens from the start; and it won’t get any cheaper on the home stretch. Every fellow you strike wants money. It wasn’t so in the States.”
“We can swap accommodations if we like, Harlan. I have several bags of jerked buffalo meat.” His voice faltered, as he remembered that this meat had been prepared by the order of his vanished wife. “We laid in a lot of flour and other stuff at our last Utah trading-post; so we’re not short.”
An old-fashioned game of barter and dicker was soon concluded; and Captain Ranger set his men to work, rearranging the wagons and making ready to move on.
XXIX
IN THE LAND OF DROUTH
All the wagons except the “saloon,” or family vehicle, were ruthlessly stripped of their various appurtenances; the running gear of those that had seemed to stand the wear and travel with the least injury were selected to hold the absolute necessaries of the remainder of the journey. Many articles of utility were compelled to find a lodgment in the family wagon, causing Sally O’Dowd to ruefully survey the limited space for the little flock who were too young in years to walk regularly.
“We’ll see what can be done,” said the Captain, thoughtfully. “I’ve left the saloon wagon to the last, hoping somebody would come along who could spare us a few more steers. We’ve thrown away everything we can do without. But we’ll get the cattle.”
“It’s lucky we’ve got the money the teamsters paid us to get back after they deserted us,” said Jean. The Captain’s face brightened.
“Why, surely!” he cried. “I had forgotten all about the financial end of that incident. You have a business head on you, my girl!”
“Here it is,” cried Marjorie. “It is in our great-grandmother’s silver spectacle-case. Jean put it there.”