"Then Wright's cattle will be in again this year."
"That's the worst of it; they are in. Shelby brought up a thousand head a week ago, and was going to push them right in over the snow. The feed's just starting on the low meadows in back, and it hasn't woke up a mite in the higher meadows. You throw cattle in on that mushy, soft ground and new feed, and they tromp down and destroy more'n they eat. No mountain cattleman goes in till the feed's well started, never."
"But what does Shelby do it for, then?"
Martin spat accurately at a knothole.
"Oh, he don't care. Those big men don't give a damn what kind of shape cattle is in, as long as they stay alive. Same with humans; only they ain't so particular about the staying alive part."
"Couldn't anything be done to stop them?"
"Plant could keep them out, but he won't. Jim and George Pollock, and Tom Carroll and some of the other boys put up such a kick, though, that they saw a great light. They ain't going in for a couple of weeks more."
"That's all right, then," said Bob heartily.
"Is it?" asked Martin.
"Isn't it?" inquired Bob.