"Only a hundred or so different reasons," Evans returned indifferently. "Then beef-tops brought ten dollars a head and they're worth three times that now; then you bought a brand on the hoof, come as they run, for round five dollars straight through, exclusive of calves; now it's based at ten on the round-up tally. In those days a man could better afford to let part of his cows winter-kill than to raise feed to winter the whole of them through—among other things. These days he can't."
"And have your water holes fenced," Morrow said. "As soon as you let the first squatter light."
"The government has prohibited fencing water holes necessary to the adjacent range," Harris cut in. "If that valley was mine I'd have put it in hay this long time back."
"But it wasn't yours," Morrow pointed out.
"No; but it is now, or at least a part of it is," Harris said. "I picked up that school section that lays across the valley and filed on a home quarter that butts up against the rims." He sat gazing indifferently out the door as if unconscious of the dead silence that followed his remark. More men had drifted in till nearly a dozen were gathered in the room.
"That's never been done out here—buying school sections and filing squatter's rights," Morrow said at last. "This is cow country and will never be anything else."
"Good cow country," Harris agreed. "And it stands to reason it could be made better with a little help."
"Whenever you start helping a country with fence and plow you ruin it for cows," Morrow stated. "I know!"
"It always loomed up in the light of a good move to me," the newcomer returned. "One of us has likely read his signs wrong."
"There's some signs round here you better read," Morrow said. "They were posted for such as you."