"Mebby he's used his homestead right a'ready," suggested Shoop. "But Nell Loring could file."
They climbed back into the buckboard. Again Shoop began a stanza of his ditty. He seemed well pleased about something. Possibly he realized that his employer's attitude had changed; that he had at last awakened to the obvious necessity for doing something. As Corliss put the team to a brisk trot the foreman's song ran high. Action was his element. Inactivity tended to make him more or less cynical, and ate into his tobacco money.
Suddenly Corliss turned to him. "Bud, I'm going to homestead that ranch."
"Whoop!" cried the foreman. "First shot at the buck!"
"I'm going to put Sundown on it, for himself. He's steady and wouldn't hurt a fly."
Shoop became silent. He, in turn, stared straight ahead.
"What do you think of it?" queried Corliss.
"Nothin'. 'Cept I wouldn't mind havin' a little ole homestead myself."
Corliss laughed. "You're not cut out for it, Bud. You mean you'd like the chance to make the water-hole a base for operations against Loring. And the place isn't worth seed, Bud."
"But that water is goin' to be worth somethin'—and right soon. Loring can't graze over this side the Concho, if he can't get to water."