grown up
with timber, some as big as a man's body. It doesn't look very far away,
but it takes all day to go and come, hauling wood. There's big springs
just above, and the water never fails. That's what makes the trees
so thrifty."

"Too bad your father didn't start a little ranch here," said Priest,
surveying the scene. "It's a natural cattle range. There are the sand
hills to the south; good winter shelter and a carpet of grass."

"We were too poor," frankly admitted the boy. "Every fall we had to go
to the Solomon River to hunt work. With pa's pension, and what we could
earn, we held down the homestead. Last fall we proved up; pa's service
in the army counted on the residence required. It doesn't matter now if
we do leave it. All Dell and I have to do is to keep the taxes paid."

"You would be doing wrong to leave this range," said the trail boss in
fatherly tones. "There's a fortune in this grass, if you boys only had
the cattle to eat it. Try and get a hundred cows on shares, or buy
young steers on a credit."

"Why, we have no money, and no one would credit boys," ruefully replied
Joel.

"You have something better than either credit or money," frankly replied
the cowman; "you control this range. Make that the basis of your
beginning. All these cattle that are coming over the trail are hunting a
market or a new owner. Convince any man that you have the range, and the
cattle will be forthcoming to occupy it."

"But we only hold a quarter-section of land," replied the boy in his
bewilderment.

"Good. Take possession of the range, occupy it with cattle, and every
one will respect your prior right," argued the practical man. "Range is
being rapidly taken up in this western country. Here's your chance.
Water and grass, world without end."

Joel was evidently embarrassed. Not that he questioned the older man's
advice, but the means to the end seemed totally lacking. The grind of
poverty had been his constant companion, until he scarcely looked
forward to any reprieve, and the castles being built and the domain
surveyed at the present moment were vague and misty. "I don't doubt your
advice," admitted the boy. "A man could do it, you could, but Dell and
I had better return to the settlements. Mr. Quince will surely be
well by fall."

"Will you make me a promise?" frankly asked the cowman.

"I will," eagerly replied the boy.

"After I leave to-morrow morning, then, tell Forrest that you are
thinking of claim