“They cawn’t make me serve my three years out, can they, Phil?” queried DeRue Hannington, anxiously.
“Not they! Why, all they wanted was your five hundred dollars. They’ll be glad to be quit of you.”
The Englishman perked up.
“They’re welcome to the money. But I’m not through rawnching, you know. You see I’ve got the worst over now and I’m feeling quite a Westerner. You don’t happen to know anyone who has a good rawnch for sale?––one with a decent sort of a house and stables, and lots of fruit trees on it. I’ve got the money in the bank, you know, and could pay cash for it. I really think I could run a rawnch now.”
“No,––I haven’t the slightest idea!” returned Phil. “But it shouldn’t be a hard job getting a ranch, if you have the money. There are always lots of people ready to sell goods for cash. Take my advice, though; don’t be in too great a hurry.”
Phil rose to go.
DeRue Hannington followed him to the saloon, where Phil shook hands and left him.
As he passed out at the door he heard the voice of the stranger raised above the general conversation of the saloon.
“Excuse me, but have any of you good fellows any idea where a chap could buy a good rawnch for cash?”