A long-bearded man on a magnificent black horse rode into Opaco, with jingling silver spurs, flapping chaps, and brush-scarred tapaderos. The rider “packed a six,” and rode in an elaborate silver-mounted saddle. The West was written all over him.
“There’s Squawtooth Canby,” Opaco whispered to itself. “He ain’t been in town for three months or more. Say, I guess he should worry, eh? Railroad buildin’ right through Squawtooth Ranch! Where he had to drive his cows from ninety to a hundred an’ fifty miles to ship ’em, and run all the fat off ’em, he’ll shoot ’em in the cars right on his own ranch when the railroad’s built. It’ll make a millionaire out o’ Squawtooth Canby!”
The old man with the flowing gray beard rode direct to the City Hotel, and dismounted as gracefully as a youth of twenty-one. He lowered the plaited, tasseled reins from the black’s neck, and, with the beautiful animal biting at him playfully, stalked into the hotel, spur rowels whirring.
Half of the hotel office had been given over to the needs of Mr. Hunter Mangan, senior partner of the construction company of Mangan & Hatton, and toward this part Squawtooth Canby strode. A dark, good-looking, businesslike young man arose from a desk and held out a cordial hand to the cowman.
“Well, well, Mr. Canby, it’s good to see you again,” was “Hunt” Mangan’s greeting. “This is an unexpected pleasure. We got in only two nights ago, and I have been so busy since that I neglected dropping you a line to notify you that we are on our way. Sit down; sit down! How’s everything out at Squawtooth?”
Their hands gripped—strong hands, both of them—the hands of men who rule and are not afraid of work.
“I heard ye was in, Mr. Mangan,” said Squawtooth. “I hadta ride in on a matter o’ business to within fifteen mile of Opaco; so I just says to myself I’ll fog it on down and shake hands with Mangan while I’m about it. This town looks like a gold rush was on.”
“Oh, we’re a tiny concern compared with some you’ll see before the job’s completed,” Mangan replied. “But how is the ranch?—and—and Miss Canby?”
“Oh, ranch is there yet,” and Squawtooth grinned through his patriarchal beard. “And Manzanita’s flip as ever. Gettin’ purtier every day, by golly! Don’t know where she’ll stop. She was talkin’ about ye only t’other day, and wishin’ ye’d hurry up an’ move out on the desert.”
“Good! And I assure you we’re anxious enough to get there, too. But this represents only about three fourths of our outfit. The rest is coming in to-morrow from a little clean-up job in Utah. So we’re waiting for them, and will all move out together. Let me see—it’s two months since I was at Squawtooth, isn’t it?” Mangan laughed. “I’ll never forget the first day when I drove up with the engineers in the buckboard, and Miss Canby told me what she thought of railroads and railroad builders. At first, you know, she didn’t realize that I was one of the contractors who were coming to desecrate her beloved desert. Did she tell you about it?”