whether they scratch a living or not. She said
they urge the rubes to bring all the stock they can, because there's
plenty of range left. She says they play that up big. You can see for
yourself how that'll work out, around here!"

Pink eyed him attentively, and suddenly his dimples stood deep. "All
right, I'm It," he surrendered.

"It'd be a sin not to fall for a yarn like that, Andy. I expect you made
it all up outa your own head, but that's all right. It's a pleasure to
be fooled by a genius like you. I'll go raising turnips and cabbages
myself."

"By golly, you couldn't raise nothing but hell up on that dry bench,"
Slim observed ponderously. "There ain't any water. What's the use uh
talking foolish?"

"They're going to tackle it, just the same," Andy pointed out patiently.

"Well, by golly, if you ain't just lyin' to hear yourself, that there
graftin' bunch had oughta be strung up!"

"Sure, they had. Nobody's going to argue about that. But seeing we can't
do that, the next best thing is to beat them to it. If they came out
here with their herd of pilgrims and found the land all took up--" Andy
smiled hypnotically upon the goggling group.

"Haw-haw-haw-w!" bawled Big Medicine. "It'd be wuth it, by cripes!"

"Yeah--it would, all right. If that talk Andy's been giving us is
straight, about grazing the land instead uh working it--"

"You can mighty quick find out," Andy retorted. "Go up and ask Chip
for them land laws, and that plat. And ask him what he thinks about the
deal. You don't have to take my word for it." Andy grinned virtuously
and pushed back his chair. From their faces, and the remarks they had
made, he felt very confident of the ultimate decision. "What about you,
Patsy?" he asked suddenly, turning to the bulky, bald German cook who
was thumping bread dough in a far corner. "You got any homestead or
desert rights you ain't used?"

"Py cosh, I got all der rights dere iss," Patsy returned querulously.
"I got more rights as you shmartys. I got soldier's rights mit fightin'.
Und py cosh, I use him too if dem fellers coom by us mit der dry farms
alreatty!"

"Well, you son-of-a-gun!" Andy smote him elatedly upon a fat shoulder.
"What do you know about old Patsy for a dead game sport? By gracious,
that makes another three hundred and twenty to the good. Gee, it's lucky
this bunch has gone along turning up their noses at nesters and thinkin'
they couldn't be real punchers and hold down claims too. If