fathers had afore us! There ain't
never been no trouble before. Sometimes we crowded a little, but we all
know our people and we could fix things up, and so long as they let us
be, we got along all right. It don't _pay_ us to overstock. What for do
we keep cattle? To sell, don't we? And we can't sell 'em unless they're
fat. Summer feed's all we got to fat 'em on. Winter feed's no good. You
know that. We ain't going to crowd our range. You make me tired!"

"What's the trouble then?"

"Outsiders," snapped Pollock. "Folks that live on the plains and just
push in to summer their cattle anyhow, and then fat 'em for the market
on alfalfa hay. This ain't their country. Why don't they stick to their
own?"

"Can't you handle them? Who are they?"

"It ain't they," replied George Pollock sullenly. "It's him. It's the
richest man in California, with forty ranches and fifty thousand head of
cattle and a railroad or two and God knows what else. But he'll come up
here and take a pore man's living away from him for the sake of a few
hundred dollars saved."

"Old Simeon, hey?" remarked the ranchman thoughtfully.

"Simeon Wright," said Pollock. "The same damn old robber. Forest
Reserves!" he sneered bitterly. "For the use of the public! Hell! Who's
the public? me and you and the other fellow? The public is Simeon
Wright. What do you expect?"

"Didn't Plant say he was going to look into the matter for next year?"
Bob inquired from the other side the fire.

"Plant! He's bought," returned Pollock contemptuously. "He's never seen
the country, anyway; and he never will."

He rose and kicked the fire together.

"Good night!" he said shortly, and, retiring to the shadows, rolled
himself in a blanket and turned his back on the visitors.

XIII

The season passed without further incidents of general interest. It was
a busy season, as mountain seasons always are. Bob had opportunity to go
nowhere; but in good truth he had no desire to do so. The surroundings
immediate to the work were rich enough in interest. After the flurry
caused by the delay in opening communication, affairs fell into their
grooves. The days passed on wings. Almost before he knew it, the dogwood
leaves had turned rose, the aspens yellow, and the pines, thinning in
anticipation of the heavy snows, were dropping their russet needles
everywhere. A light snow in September reminded the workers of the
altitude. By the first of November the works were closed do