was ever
credited with a human emotion was when his favourite dog died; he cried
over it and then got drunk, careless of cost.

Shandon was surprised when he saw Ettinger ride up. He was more
surprised at Ettinger's manner when he insisted on Shandon saddling and
riding with him where there "wouldn't be no chance of bein' overheard."

Once clear of the house and outbuildings and in the valley where his
shrewd little eyes made sure that no other ears than Shandon's would
overhear, Ettinger plunged eagerly into his errand.

In brief it was this: Ettinger owned five hundred acres of valley land,
down in Dry Valley, some thirty miles from the Bar L-M bunk house.
Shandon knew the place well. Ettinger had, also, some money in the
bank. How much it was not his cautious way to say until he was obliged
to. How much would Shandon say his ranch was worth? Shandon did not
know, but hazarded the guess that it might bring twenty-five dollars an
acre. He did not consider it worth more because it was good grazing
land only for part of the year, and like the rest of the valley there
was scant water on it through the summer. Twelve thousand five hundred
dollars?

Ettinger cackled; he could sell it to-morrow for seventy-five thousand!

Shandon began to feel the first dim stirrings of interest. Ettinger's
excitement was too genuine not to awaken certain glimmerings of
interest. Water, that was the thing! Now, if there were water, plenty
of water, in Dry Valley; if a man could flood his land from brimming
ditches then what would happen? The soil was deep and rich; it had
been slipping down from the mountains for centuries; it had never been
worn out by farming. Twenty-five dollars an acre? What were the other
California valley lands worth where there was the same soil, no better
climate and water galore? Napa Valley, Santa Clara Valley, Sacramento
Valley? A hundred dollars an acre was dirt cheap; a man thought
nothing of paying for a small ranch five hundred dollars an acre!

That was true enough, and Shandon knew it. But there was that
tremendous IF.

"It's all right, Ettinger. All but the water! And since the water is
the whole thing, and I don't see where you're going to get it--"

"Wait a minute!" cried Ettinger, his eager hand clutching at Shandon's
arm. "I tell you I'd a sold that ranch for twenty-five dollars an acre
six months ago an' been damn' glad to git out at that. An' right now I
could sell for a h