"Now you're talkin'," Pete Mosher broke in eagerly. "Them rich fellers went into cattle just for a notion; becus beef's goin' up. Us ranchers live in these hills, and our livin' depends on the grazin' in 'em. Who's got the best right to it—them capitalists, or us? Hey?"
As he asked it, his sunburned blue eyes darted from one guest to another. Rob was the first to answer him. "There's one way to get rid of these scrubs—put the herd law through."
"Herd law!" And now every one talked at once. "In a free range country? Where'd we be ourselves?" "The stockmen'd fight it while the world stands." "You'd have the whole of Camas Prairie goin' to law."
"Wait a second," Rob broke in; "let me explain. There's not a section of land along the north side of these hills that isn't homesteaded, is there, at least up to where the hills get too steep for cattle to graze? And if all of us ranchers along here made an agreement not to fight one another if our cattle made trouble, but to settle it peaceably, then we could keep the range for ourselves and keep out the big fellows, Ludlum and the rest that couldn't afford to herd their stock all summer."
He talked on fast and eagerly, making mistakes and correcting himself, not saying half that he wanted to; but he put the idea before them convincingly, and before the discussion ended they had decided to take action toward getting a herd law through for that district.
While the argument was at its hottest, Mrs. Robinson leaned over and whispered hoarsely: "Say, girlie, if you say so, I'll go pick me some of them peas you said I could have. The sun's wearin' west, and fust you know it'll be milkin' time and us havin' to hit the trail."
"Go ahead," urged Harry. "I'll go see where Isita is and start the dishes."
"Is that the Portugee girl you're talking about?" asked Sally Gardner. "I saw her go off across the meadow yonder while you and Mrs. Robinson were fetchin' on the ice cream."
Isita had, in fact, slipped away home without a word to any one.
"Never mind, girlie," Ma Robinson consoled her; "here's four of us women that's been broke to dishwater and the clatter of pans long enough not to shy or balk at 'em. That so, Sally Gardner? Come on, then?"