‘What does that stand for?’ Elbert asked.
‘Heaslep and Company.’
No Circle X or Lazy M—but irrigation, alfalfa fields, Heaslep and Company!
‘The HCO runs everything down here—big land grant stretching almost to the Border,’ the stage driver said.
Elbert was let down and made his way to a group of low buildings in the distance. At the farrier’s shop, he inquired for the foreman, and was told to look for a door ahead, marked ‘Office.’ ‘You’ll find Frost-face in there or somewhere about,’ the blacksmith said.
Elbert’s pulse picked up a little at the name of the foreman, but it was certainly a business office he entered.
‘We’re not short-handed,’ snapped the little gray man, with worried face. ‘Things dull down in winter. Nothin’ much to do right now but keep off the hoof-and-mouth disease.’
Outside there was a succession of sick blasts from a truck—the sound of an engine, not only decrepit, but dirty and dry. Elbert turned to the door.
‘Wait a minute, young fellow. We might use a man on the chuck wagon—I wonder if you could drive old Fortitude?’
‘A mule?’ said Elbert. ‘I’m sure I could learn—’