"I'll see what I can do," said he. "About how much land?"
"Ten or twenty thousand, to begin with."
"There's some Government land not on the reservation between here and the railroad. There are three or four families of squatters on it now. I don't know how they manage to live, but they always seem to have beef and bacon. You might have some trouble about getting them off—and about the water. I'll let you know some time next month just what I can do."
"We won't have any trouble," said Waring. "That's the last thing we want. I'll ride over next month. You can write to me at Stacey if anything turns up."
"I'll write to you. Do you ever get hungry? Come on over to the hotel.
I'm as hungry as a bear."
Chapter XIV
Bondsman's Decision
Bud Shoop's homestead on the Blue Mesa lay in a wide level of grassland, round which the spruce of the high country swept in a great, blue-edged circle. To the west the barren peak of Mount Baldy maintained a solitary vigil in sunshine and tempest. Away to the north the timbered plateaus dropped from level to level like a gigantic stair until they merged with the horizon-line of the plains. The air on the Blue Mesa was thin and keen; warm in the sun, yet instantly cool at dusk. A mountain stream, all but hidden by the grasses, meandered across the mesa to an emerald hollow of coarse marsh-grass. A few yards from this pool, and on its southern side, stood the mountain cabin of the Shoop homestead, a roomy building of logs, its wide, easy-sloping veranda roof covered with home-made shakes. Near the house was a small corral and stable of logs. Out on the mesa a thin crop of oats wavered in the itinerant breeze. Round the cabin was a garden plot that had suffered from want of attention. Above the gate to the door-yard was a weathered sign on which was lettered carefully:
"The rose is red; the violet blue;
Please shut this gate when you come through."
And on the other side of the sign, challenging the possible carelessness of the chance visitor, was the legend:—