"I'm sitting at the outer edge of the circle," he told Jim Galway. "But when my first crop is harvested I shall be on the inside—a real rancher!"
"You've already got one foot over the circle," said Jim.
"And with my first crop of dates I'll be in the holy of holies of pastoral bliss!"
"Yes, I should say so!" Jim responded, but in a way that indicated surprise at the thought of Jack's remaining in Little Rivers long enough for such a consummation.
When his alfalfa covered the earth with a green carpet Jack was under a spell of something more than the never-ending marvel of dry seeds springing into succulent abundance without the waving of any magic wand.
"I made it out of the desert!" he cried. "It laughs in triumph at the bare stretches around it, waiting on water!"
"That is it," said Jim; "waiting on water!"
"The promise of what might come!"
"It will come! Some day, Jack, you and I will ride up into the river canyon and I will show you a place where you can see the blue sky between precipitous walls two hundred feet high. The abyss is so narrow you can throw a stone across it."
"What lies beyond?" asked Jack, his eyes lighting vividly.