"No, Señor," he answered, with a sweeping gesture; "if the grass get moocha short, the rain not soaka in but runa right away, the ground all same as dust, and wind blowa the earth away from the roots and alla dry up."
"I see," said Roger thoughtfully. "Then putting too much cattle on land is like cutting the forests on the mountains too heavily. Deforest the mountains and the water floods the streams and is wasted, crop the plains and they become a desert. I see."
The distance to the Survey camp was not great, being but little over twenty miles, but the country was not conducive to rapid traveling, and as the boy allowed his companion to set the pace it was almost evening when they arrived. The party had just come in from the day's work, and Roger immediately presented his letter to Mr. Barrs, by whom he was warmly welcomed.
Roger's new chief was a quiet man, as indeed most of his leaders had been, but Mr. Barrs bubbled over continually with a certain sedate humor. He promptly put the lad through a catechism with reference to his work and experience since he joined the Survey, and little by little, drew out from Roger almost the entire story of his adventures up to and including the incident of the rattlesnake-bitten girl on the train the previous day.
"That, my son," said Barrs, "is a fitting prelude to your stay here. This is the first and only original headquarters of the snake, spider, and insect tribe, and anything with the usual number of legs is out of place."
"And are they all poisonous, Mr. Barrs?" asked the boy.
"Not especially," was the cheerful reply. "At least I've managed to keep alive a whole lot. No, half these stories you hear about venomous reptiles are imaginary and superstitious."
"But if you geta the trantler bite," put in the Mexican herder, who had been listening, "you willa the dance until you drop down dead."
"Nonsense, José," answered the chief of the party, "that's just an old story. The tarantula's bite may be bad, as far as that goes, but I've never heard of any one having been bitten. Have you?"
"No, Señor, not myself have I seen it. But I have hearda of moocha the plenty, and they all die in the dance. There was Juarez Alvinero on the festa Sant' Antonio two years ago, Señor; he dance and dance in the Plaza until he droppa down dead, and when they runa to picka him up, a trantler let go his hand and run away, and there was two moocha large bites. Si, Señor."