Charlie nodded, and the smile died out of his eyes.
“I saw him. You certainly were traveling in good company.”
Bill nodded, towering like some good-natured St. Bernard over a mild-eyed water spaniel.
“Good company’s a specialty with me. But I didn’t come alongside any of it, since I set out to make here ’cross country from Moosemin on the advice of the only bigger fool than myself I’ve ever met, until I ran into him. Say, Charlie, I s’pose its necessary to have a deal of grass around to run a ranch on?”
Charlie’s eyes lit with the warmest amusement. This great brother of his was the brightest landmark in his memory of the world he had said good-bye to years ago.
“You can’t graze cattle on bare ground,” he replied watchfully. “Why?”
Bill’s shoulders went up to the accompaniment of a chuckle.
“Nothing—only I hate grass. I seem to have gone over as much grass in the last week as a boarding-house spring lamb. But for that feller, I surely guess I’d still be chasing over it, like those ‘strays’ he spends his life rounding-up.”
A quick look of inquiry flashed in the rancher’s eyes.
“Strays?” he inquired.