could not forbear a growl
of satisfaction. It could not be denied that the barn was superb,
monumental even. Almost any one of the other barns in the county could
be swung, bird-cage fashion, inside of it, with room to spare. In every
sense, the barn was precisely what Annixter had hoped of it. In his
pleasure over the success of his idea, even Hilma for the moment was
forgotten.

"And, now," murmured Annixter, "I'll give that dance in it. I'll make
'em sit up."

It occurred to him that he had better set about sending out the
invitations for the affair. He was puzzled to decide just how the thing
should be managed, and resolved that it might be as well to consult
Magnus and Mrs. Derrick.

"I want to talk of this telegram of the goat's with Magnus, anyhow,"
he said to himself reflectively, "and there's things I got to do in
Bonneville before the first of the month."

He turned about on his heel with a last look at the barn, and set off
toward the stable. He had decided to have his horse saddled and ride
over to Bonneville by way of Los Muertos. He would make a day of it,
would see Magnus, Harran, old Broderson and some of the business men of
Bonneville.

A few moments later, he rode out of the barn and the stable-yard, a
fresh cigar between his teeth, his hat slanted over his face against the
rays of the sun, as yet low in the east. He crossed the irrigating ditch
and gained the trail--the short cut over into Los Muertos, by way
of Hooven's. It led south and west into the low ground overgrown by
grey-green willows by Broderson Creek, at this time of the rainy season
a stream of considerable volume, farther on dipping sharply to pass
underneath the Long Trestle of the railroad. On the other side of the
right of way, Annixter was obliged to open the gate in Derrick's line
fence. He managed this without dismounting, swearing at the horse
the while, and spurring him continually. But once inside the gate he
cantered forward briskly.

This part of Los Muertos was Hooven's holding, some five hundred acres
enclosed between the irrigating ditch and Broderson Creek, and half
the way across, Annixter came up with Hooven himself, busily at work
replacing a broken washer in his seeder. Upon one of the horses hitched
to the machine, her hands gripped tightly upon the harness of the
collar, Hilda, his little daughter, with her small, hob-nailed boots
and boy's canvas overalls, sat, exalted and petrified with ecstasy and
excite