," Billy answered brusquely. "The brickyard's
payin' for her, not the vegetable ranch. She's yourn at the word. What
d'ye say?"

"I'll tell you in a minute."

Saxon was trying to mount, but the animal danced nervously away.

"Hold on till I tie," Billy said. "She ain't skirt-broke, that's the
trouble."

Saxon tightly gripped reins and mane, stepped with spurred foot on
Billy's hand, and was lifted lightly into the saddle.

"She's used to spurs," Billy called after. "Spanish broke, so don't
check her quick. Come in gentle. An' talk to her. She's high-life, you
know."

Saxon nodded, dashed out the gate and down the road, waved a hand to
Clara Hastings as she passed the gate of Trillium Covert, and continued
up Wild Water canyon.

When she came back, Ramona in a pleasant lather, Saxon rode to the rear
of the house, past the chicken houses and the flourishing berry-rows,
to join Billy on the rim of the bench, where he sat on his horse in the
shade, smoking a cigarette. Together they looked down through an
opening among the trees to the meadow which was a meadow no longer. With
mathematical accuracy it was divided into squares, oblongs, and narrow
strips, which displayed sharply the thousand hues of green of a truck
garden. Gow Yum and Chan Chi, under enormous Chinese grass hats, were
planting green onions. Old Hughie, hoe in hand, plodded along the main
artery of running water, opening certain laterals, closing others. From
the work-shed beyond the barn the strokes of a hammer told Saxon that
Carlsen was wire-binding vegetable boxes. Mrs. Paul's cheery soprano,
lifted in a hymn, doated through the trees, accompanied by the whirr of
an egg-beater. A sharp barking told where Possum still waged hysterical
and baffled war on the Douglass squirrels. Billy took a long draw from
his cigarette, exhaled the smoke, and continued to look down at the
meadow. Saxon divined trouble in his manner. His rein-hand was on the
pommel, and her free hand went out and softly rested on his. Billy
turned his slow gaze upon her mare's lather, seeming not to note it, and
continued on to Saxon's face.

"Huh!" he equivocated, as if waking up. "Them San Leandro Porchugeeze
ain't got nothin' on us when it comes to intensive farmin'. Look at that
water runnin'. You know, it seems so good to me that sometimes I just
wanta get down on hands an' knees an' lap it all up myself."

"Oh, to have all the water you want in a climate like this!" Saxon