The sun was sinking when the now wearied mustangs drew the coach up the round flank of the hill on which the Hardin ranch house was set. Like most dwellings in the cattle country, the house was sprawling, one story only in height, and rather picturesque.
“I just love the look of it,” Dorothy declared, standing up to see it better. “Don’t you, Tavia?”
“I would if I could think of the scene long enough,” admitted her chum. “But, oh, me! oh, my! I am wondering if there will be anything in the line of supper forthcoming? I’m so hungry it takes my mind off the scenery.”
“How ridiculous! of course there will be something to eat.”
“But will there be enough?” cried Tavia.
Mrs. White assured her there would be supper. The lawyers at Dugonne had told her that there were Colonel Hardin’s foreman and his family on the place, as well as several herdsmen.
Dorothy continued to gaze wonderingly at the rolling green and brown pastures, wire-fenced and evidently carefully kept up, rising in high terraces from beyond the ranch house into the wooded and rugged foothills to the west.
“I expect,” said Aunt Winnie, “up in that rugged country yonder lies the wonderful Lost River they tell me about—the water supply. It may increase the value of the great estate enormously, as the lawyers say, but I fear it is going to make me a lot of trouble.”
“Do you think so, Aunt Winnie?” asked Dorothy, earnestly.
“Yes. I spoke of the matter to Mr. Jermyn, and he advised me to go slowly. There are other people after the water beside Desert City and some farmers to whom Colonel Hardin promised it.”