e open in a
multitude of cracks.

Disappointment leaped into Saxon's face, but Billy, crumbling a clod
between his fingers, had not made up his mind.

"It's rich," he pronounced; "--the cream of the soil that's been washin'
down from the hills for ten thousan' years. But--"

He broke off, stared all about, studying the configuration of the
meadow, crossed it to the redwood trees beyond, then came back.

"It's no good as it is," he said. "But it's the best ever if it's
handled right. All it needs is a little common sense an' a lot of
drainage. This meadow's a natural basin not yet filled level. They's a
sharp slope through the redwoods to the creek. Come on, I'll show you."

They went through the redwoods and came out on Sonoma Creek. At this
spot was no singing. The stream poured into a quiet pool. The willows on
their side brushed the water. The opposite side was a steep bank. Billy
measured the height of the bank with his eye, the depth of the water
with a driftwood pole.

"Fifteen feet," he announced. "That allows all kinds of high-divin' from
the bank. An' it's a hundred yards of a swim up an' down."

They followed down the pool. It emptied in a riffle, across exposed
bedrock, into another pool. As they looked, a trout flashed into the air
and back, leaving a widening ripple on the quiet surface.

"I guess we won't winter in Carmel," Billy said. "This place was
specially manufactured for us. In the morning I'll find out who owns
it."

Half an hour later, feeding the horses, he called Saxon's attention to a
locomotive whistle.

"You've got your railroad," he said. "That's a train pulling into Glen
Ellen, an' it's only a mile from here."

Saxon was dozing off to sleep under the blankets when Billy aroused her.

"Suppose the guy that owns it won't sell?"

"There isn't the slightest doubt," Saxon answered with unruffled
certainty. "This is our place. I know it."

CHAPTER XVIII

They were awakened by Possum, who was indignantly reproaching a tree
squirrel for not coming down to be killed. The squirrel chattered
garrulous remarks that drove Possum into a mad attempt to climb the
tree. Billy and Saxon giggled and hugged each other at the terrier's
frenzy.

"If this is goin' to be our place, they'll be no shootin' of tree
squirrels," Billy said.

Saxon pressed his hand and sat up. From beneath the bench came the cry
of a meadow lark.

"There isn't anything left to be desired," she sighed happily.