XV
They rode from the devastated fields and angled southwest across the range. Harris pointed out the calves along their course.
"Look at those chunky little youngsters," he said. "Nearly every one is good red stock. Only a scattering few that threw back to off-color shades. This grading-up process doesn't take long to show."
When some ten miles from the Three Bar he dismounted on a ridge and she joined him, listening with entire indifference to his optimistic plans.
"We're only scratched," he said. "It won't matter in the end."
"This is the end," she dissented. "The Three Bar is done."
"It's just the start," he returned. "It's the end for them! Don't you see? They staked everything on one big raid that would smash the Three Bar and discourage the rest from duplicating our move. That would give Slade a new lease of life—delay the inevitable for a few more years. They made one final attempt and lost."
"Did they lose?" she inquired. "I thought they'd won."
"They're through!" he asserted positively. "Slade is locked up. Inside of a week the sheriff would have cleaned out the Breaks. It was my fault this happened. With Slade locked up and Morrow dead it didn't occur to me that anything was planned ahead. If the albino had lived he'd never have run his neck into a noose by a raid like this. But Lang was born without brains. Slade could hire him for anything."