“To pick out a lot,” Wild Water called back. “Look at the river. All Dawson's stampeding to buy lots, an' we're going to beat 'em to it for the choice. That's right, ain't it, Bill?”
“Sure thing,” Saltman corroborated. “This has the makin's of a Jim-dandy suburb, an' it sure looks like it'll be some popular.”
“Well, we're not selling lots over in that section where you're heading,” Smoke answered. “Over to the right there, and back on top of the bluffs are the lots. This section, running from the river and over the tops, is reserved. So come on back.”
“That's the spot we've gone and selected,” Saltman argued.
“But there's nothing doing, I tell you,” Smoke said sharply.
“Any objections to our strolling, then?” Saltman persisted.
“Decidedly. Your strolling is getting monotonous. Come on back out of that.”
“I just reckon we'll stroll anyways,” Saltman replied stubbornly. “Come on, Wild Water.”
“I warn you, you are trespassing,” was Smoke's final word.
“Nope, just strollin',” Saltman gaily retorted, turning his back and starting on.