“It’s jest like this here,” said Bill. “All o’ this land about the lake here, an’ f’r God knows how many miles beyond, is in the forest reserve. It ain’t been used f’r anythin’ but the delight o’ hunters an’ the fattenin’ of Ole Lee Sweet’s cows f’r a few months in the summer. Lee he owns Box-R Ranch, down on the desert, where we camped first night outa Spur. Them’s his cattle ye see roamin’ ’round the lake. Well, now along comes the gover’ment—seems—an’ says this here land’s good f’r somethin’ else. It c’n raise things besides sagebrush and blue-weed and saltgrass, an’ it ain’t the gover’ment’s purpose to let good land go to waste. So they’re goin’ to throw her open to homestead entry pretty soon.
“I remember myself when the gover’ment surveyors was up in here last year, runnin’ lines, but I never paid any attention. Had a lot o’ State University boys with ’em, an’ I thought they was jest practicin’, maybe, or reëstablishin’ the lines of an old survey that was made here forty years ago. Anyway, they was separatin’ the agricultural land from the worthless parts—seems—an’ now it’s out that a fella c’n take up a homestead here.
“Well, sir, I read that there account in Spur, an’ f’r some reason er other I tucked the paper under my wagon seat. Thought f’r a little, I guess, that maybe I’d take up a piece f’r myself an’ settle down an’ quit my foolin’, but I’d forgot all about it until ye tells me about Spyglass Mountain. Tony, what ye wanta do is this: Ye wanta go to work an’ get down to Los Angeles an’ file a homestead claim as close as ye c’n get to Spyglass Mountain. Maybe the lines run beyond the mountain, because pretty good land runs right clost to the foot o’ the slope. Then ye c’n have yer own mountain right on yer prop’ty. Now that the railroad’s comin’ through this country, it won’t be no time before every acre o’ that land’s took up. There can’t be much of it. Ye gotta act quick. Tell ye what we’ll do. Le’me think a minute.
“Yes, tell ye what we’ll do: You lay off to-morrow, an’ when I go out I’ll drive clean ’round the lake with ye an’ take ye to G-string. There’s an hombre there I know—name o’ Golden. He’s a mining engineer, but I reckon he knows about surveys, too. Course he will! Well, we’ll get this Golden an’ have ’im go with ye an’ make location on the land ye’ll want. Take a hundred an’ sixty—all ye c’n get. Then I’ll have to be drivin’ on to Spur right away. But you c’n come on down on the stage next day, an’ beat it to Los Angeles to make yer filin’. Got any jack?”
“Not much,” answered Joshua, catching Bill’s enthusiasm. “Scientific magazines are expensive, and—”
“Well, I got about forty bones I c’n loan ye. Guess it’ll cost ye somethin’ over twenty-five for yer filin’ fee, an’ ye won’t have much to blow on peanuts. But ye’ll make it all right. Yes, sir, that’s jest what you’n’me’ll do, Tony. An’ maybe later on I c’n pick me out a piece f’r myself.”
“Look here, California,” said Joshua, laying a firm hand on his friend’s shoulder, “do you want a piece of that land?”
“Naw,” scoffed Bill. “Jest kiddin’ myself. What’d I do with a farm?”
“I believe,” said Joshua, “that you do want a piece, and that if you had more money you’d go with me and make a filing too.”
“Ferget it! No such thing. I was jest kiddin’.”