There were corrals whose extent astounded him and left him metaphorically rubbing his eyes. They were stoutly built and of a permanent nature, and they were literally teeming with cattle amongst which a large number of men were busily at work. Beyond the corrals were other buildings. There were log shanties, and barns, and all the equipment of an extensive ranch. The place was literally a hive of industry, and bore no resemblance whatever to that which he had looked for.
The human figures amongst the cattle interested him deeply. At the distance he got the impression that they were mostly Indians, or, at least, half-breeds. But without doubt there were white men amongst them, and two particularly caught and held his interest.
One was a powerfully built man clad in typical buckskin, while the other looked to have very little relation to the hill country at all. Furthermore, judging by the mass of snow-white hair he discovered under the brim of his prairie hat, he was an old man. But clearly these two were supervising the activities in progress.
He remained where he was until the last detail of the thing he was gazing upon had been well photographed and tabulated in his mind. Then he withdrew. He would have been glad of a closer view of the two white men, but caution deterred any further approach.
He moved away and presently again became swallowed up by the shadows of the forest. And the direction of his going was southerly, where he looked for a view of the valley below.
When he reappeared again it was at a break where an undergrowth walled the limits of the woods, and he pressed through it till he came to the final screen. He held the foliage apart while he peered out beyond. Below him lay the valley of grass and woodland bluff, and it was alive with grazing cattle.
Now his interest quickened. It was not the sight of the cattle. That had been expected. There was something of even greater importance within his view. Away to his left on the sloping, hither side of the valley, and, he judged, somewhere adjacent to the clearing he had recently overlooked, a wide field of building operations looked to have been just begun. There were the cuttings ready for the foundations of a big barn or house. There, too, lay a wealth of hewn logs hauled ready for building. And even as he watched a four-horse team appeared from the woods, farther down the valley, skidding a load of freshly hewn lumber. He drew a deep breath.
Lightning was wrong. So, too, was Hartspool. All the tittle-tattle going on in that place was miles wide of the truth. Here was no cattle thief’s encampment. The extent of the organisation he had been so secretly observing could have only one meaning. How it had been achieved was something beyond his understanding. Where Dan Quinlan had obtained his capital to invest in such an enterprise it was impossible for him to suggest. The one outstanding fact remained. Here, away up in the heart of the hills, was a great and thriving cattle industry, and Dan Quinlan was the man who had created it.
McFardell’s discoveries at Quinlan’s were a source of bitter disappointment to him. They were the shattering, the complete shattering of his dream. He cursed himself bitterly that he had listened to Lightning’s suggestion, and the idle talk of Hartspool. It was always the way. Folks jumped to absurd conclusions out of suspicion of anything that was beyond their understanding. He knew he had been thoroughly fooled, and since Lightning had helped in his befoolment most of his bitterness was directed at him.