"Well, of course I'll be glad to have you see Mr. Carson—my father," and again Dave rather hesitated and stumbled over the word. "But, as a matter of fact, some of the rights he has in Rolling River are subject to some agreement with Mr. Molick. I know my father doesn't like it, for it makes him too dependent on this man, but he could do nothing else. He had to have water for his stock."
"Of course," agreed Mr. Bellmore. "Well, perhaps we can get together and form a company so he can have more water and will not have to worry about it."
"I hope so," Dave said.
A little later they came within sight of the ranch buildings, which were glowing in the rays of the setting sun.
"What a fine place!" exclaimed Mr. Bellmore.
"Yes, I like it," Dave made answer. Then a pang seemed to shoot through him. What if he had to leave the place? He could not count on always staying there, as he might have done had he been Mr. Carson's son. Even though the ranchman might love Dave as one of his own blood, when Mr. Carson died there would be other heirs very likely, who would step in and claim the place. Dave was not legally adopted. He might inherit nothing.
He had always counted on taking up as his life work, the cattle business. But now, since the disclosure had been made, this was, perhaps, impossible. And He sighed again as he looked at the group of buildings set down in a little valley, with Rolling River in the distance glistening in the slanting rays of the setting sun. On all sides stretched the vast prairies on which grazed the hundreds of cattle—not only from the Bar U ranch, but from the Centre O, and others.
"Yes, that's our place," said Dave. For the present, at least, this man need not know his secret, though he might find it out soon enough. "And I guess you'll be glad of a chance to lie down; won't you?"
"Indeed I will," was the answer.
A moment later the two rode up toward the main ranch buildings. The cowboys had come in from their day's labors, and were washing themselves at their bunk houses, in readiness for supper. From the quarters of Hop Loy, the Chinese cook, came a grateful odor.