"That's all. I haven't measured life in dollars and cents."
"Then you've missed a damn' good measure for it, my son! I ain't sayin' it's the only one, but it'll do firs' class. But you needn't get scared I've gone into the preaching business.… An' with that seventy-five dollars you're startin' out to run a big cow outfit like this, are you?"
There was a gleam of mockery in the clear blue eyes which Steve gave no sign of seeing.
"I've got a big job on my hands and I know it," he said quietly. "But I'm going to see it through."
"There's no question about the size of the job! It's life-size, man's size—Number Ten size, if you want to put it that way. It wants a real man to shove it across. Know just how much you're mortgaged for?"
"No. I was going to ask you."
"Close to fifty thousan' dollars, countin' back interest, unpaid. More'n you ever saw in a day, I reckon."
Steve shrugged. This to hide his first inclination to whistle. Fifty thousand—why, he didn't know Number Ten ranch was worth that much money. But it must be worth a good deal more if his grandfather had advanced so much on it.
"It is a nice little pile," he admitted carelessly.
The old man grunted, thrust his hands into his pockets, and drew deeply at his stogie. Steve rolled a cigarette. In the silence falling upon them they could hear the sound of the mechanician's wrench.