But Presley, scenting an argument, refrained from answering, and bethought himself of moving on.
“I'm going to leave my wheel here for a while, Buck,” he said, “if you don't mind. I'm going up to the spring, and the road is rough between here and there.”
“Stop in for dinner on your way back,” said Annixter. “There'll be a venison steak. One of the boys got a deer over in the foothills last week. Out of season, but never mind that. I can't eat it. This stomach of mine wouldn't digest sweet oil to-day. Get here about six.”
“Well, maybe I will, thank you,” said Presley, moving off. “By the way,” he added, “I see your barn is about done.”
“You bet,” answered Annixter. “In about a fortnight now she'll be all ready.”
“It's a big barn,” murmured Presley, glancing around the angle of the house toward where the great structure stood.
“Guess we'll have to have a dance there before we move the stock in,” observed Annixter. “That's the custom all around here.”
Presley took himself off, but at the gate Annixter called after him, his mouth full of prunes, “Say, take a look at that herd of sheep as you go up. They are right off here to the east of the road, about half a mile from here. I guess that's the biggest lot of sheep YOU ever saw. You might write a poem about 'em. Lamb—ram; sheep graze—sunny days. Catch on?”
Beyond Broderson Creek, as Presley advanced, tramping along on foot now, the land opened out again into the same vast spaces of dull brown earth, sprinkled with stubble, such as had been characteristic of Derrick's ranch. To the east the reach seemed infinite, flat, cheerless, heat-ridden, unrolling like a gigantic scroll toward the faint shimmer of the distant horizons, with here and there an isolated live-oak to break the sombre monotony. But bordering the road to the westward, the surface roughened and raised, clambering up to the higher ground, on the crest of which the old Mission and its surrounding pear trees were now plainly visible.
Just beyond the Mission, the road bent abruptly eastward, striking off across the Seed ranch. But Presley left the road at this point, going on across the open fields. There was no longer any trail. It was toward three o'clock. The sun still spun, a silent, blazing disc, high in the heavens, and tramping through the clods of uneven, broken plough was fatiguing work. The slope of the lowest foothills begun, the surface of the country became rolling, and, suddenly, as he topped a higher ridge, Presley came upon the sheep.