p his poncho and saddle and followed the man
inside the house.

"There was just where they were going--for shelter. There aint a piece
of timber within twenty-five miles of this place to shelter a rabbit."

"Then what do you use for fuel?"

"Buffalo chips. There, Tom, put your plunder in there and set down and
look around you. You wouldn't think the man who owns this place was
worth two hundred thousand, but it is a fact."

"Why doesn't he buy a better piece of ground, then? I wouldn't be so far
from shelter if I were in his place."

"Buy it? He doesn't own this property. Every acre of ground that he
occupies is Congress land."

"But I'll bet you he wouldn't give it up," said Stanley. "I'd like to
see somebody come here and say this is his."

"Then you will never see it. Mr. Parsons says that all this property
will be thrown open to settlement some day, and then he and the rest of
the squatters will have to go farther West. But, laws! he's got money
enough, and he began life, Tom, just as you are going to--by taking a
grub-stake and starting for the mountains. But come on, boys, and let's
get supper. Stanley, just roll out the rest of that bacon and hard-tack,
and, Monroe, you go outside and throw in some buffalo chips."

Tom, weary with his long ride, made up his bunk, then threw himself upon
it and looked about him.

CHAPTER VIII.

A HOME RANCH.

Tom was surprised at the interior of the dugout. From the outside it
didn't look large enough to accommodate more than three or four men, but
there were bunks for eight, and there was ample room for the cooking
stove, a dilapidated affair which looked as though it might have come
from somebody's scrap-pile and left one of its legs behind it. But there
was plenty of "draw" to it, as Monroe came in with his arms full of
buffalo chips, filled the stove full, and touched a match to them. On
each side of the stove was a blanket, which on being raised proved to
conceal little cupboards devoted to various odds and ends. One contained
books and magazines, a whip or two, and several pairs of spurs, and in
the other were to be found the dishes from which the inmates had eaten
breakfast, all neatly washed and put away. Tom was surprised at the air
of neatness that everywhere prevailed.

"Oh, you won't find all dugouts like this one," said Monroe. "Some of
them are so dirty that you can't find a place to spread your blanket.
Mr. Parsons' cook did this work, and all