bluffs. On the west and north sides there were extensive ranges of grass running arm-like into the forest. The Mormon settler who had given the lake its name had sold out to an Arizonian and his partner from Kansas.
"Wal, we got a good thing hyar," said the Westerner Holbert. "But what with the timber wolves an' hard winters we have tough sleddin'. You see, it's open range an' pretty high."
"Any neighbours?" asked Huett.
"None between hyar an' the Tonto. Jackson runs one of Babbitt's outfits down on Clear Creek. Thet heads in above Long Valley. Then there's Jeff an' Bill Warner, out on the desert. They run a lot of cattle between Clear Creek an' the Little Colorado. Towards Flagg my nearest neighbour is Dwight Collin. He has a big ranch ten miles in. An' next is Tim Mooney. Beyond St. Mary's Lake the settlers thicken up a bit."
"Any rustlers?"
"Wal, not any out-an'-out rustlers," replied Holbert evasively. "Rustler gangs have yet to settle in this section of Arizona."
"Wolves take toll of your calves, eh?"
"Cost me half a hundred head last winter. Did you ever hear of Killer Gray?"
"Not that I remember."
"Wal, you'd remember thet lofer, if you ever seen him. Big grey timber-wolf with a black ruff. He's got a small band an' he ranges this whole country."
"Why don't you kill him?"
"Huh! He's too smart for us. Jest natural cumin', for a young wolf."
"I like this Arizona timber-land," declared Huett, frankly, "And I'm set on a ranch somewhere south of the lake."
"Wal now, thet's interestin'. What did you say yore name was?"
"Logan Huett. I rode for several cattle outfits before I worked as scout and hunter for Crook in his Apache campaign."
"I kinda reckoned you was a soldier," returned Holbert genially. "Wal, Huett, you're as welcome out hyar as May flowers. I hope you don't locate too far south of us. It's shore lonely, an' in winter we're snowed in some seasons for weeks."
"Thanks. I'll pick me out a range down in the woods where it's not so cold... Would you be able to sell me a few cows and heifers, and a bull?"
"I shore would. An' dirt cheap, too, 'cause thet'd save me from makin' a drive to town before winter comes."
"Much obliged, Holbert. I've saved my wages. But they won't last long.
I'll pick up the cattle on my way back."
"Good. An' how soon, Huett?"
"Before the snow flies."
All the way into Flagg next day Logan's practical mind resolved a daring query. Why not wire Lucinda to come West to marry him? He resisted this idea, repudiated it, but it returned all the stronger. Logan's mother had not long survived his father. He had a brother and sister living somewhere in Illinois. Therefore since he had no kindred ties, he did not see why it would not be politic to save the time and expense that it would take to get him to Missouri. He had already bought cattle. He was eager to buy horses, oxen, wagon, tools, guns, and hurry back to Sycamore Canyon. The more time he had in Flagg the better bargains he could find.
Flagg was a cattle and lumber town, important since the advent of the railroad some half-dozen years previously. It had grown since Huett's last visit. The main block presented a solid front of saloons and gambling-halls--places Logan resolved to give a wide berth. He was no longer a cowboy. Some man directed him to a livery-stable, where he turned over his horse. Next he left his pack at a lodging-house and hunted up a barber-shop. It was dusk when he left there. The first restaurant he encountered was run by a Chinaman and evidently a rendezvous for cowboys, of which the town appeared full. Logan ate and listened.
After supper he strolled down to the railroad station, a rude frame structure in the centre of a square facing the main street. Evidently a train was expected. The station and platform presented a lively scene with cowboys, cattle-men, railroad men, Indians, and Mexicans moving about, Logan's walk became a lagging one, and ended short of the station-house. It seemed to him that
"Wal, we got a good thing hyar," said the Westerner Holbert. "But what with the timber wolves an' hard winters we have tough sleddin'. You see, it's open range an' pretty high."
"Any neighbours?" asked Huett.
"None between hyar an' the Tonto. Jackson runs one of Babbitt's outfits down on Clear Creek. Thet heads in above Long Valley. Then there's Jeff an' Bill Warner, out on the desert. They run a lot of cattle between Clear Creek an' the Little Colorado. Towards Flagg my nearest neighbour is Dwight Collin. He has a big ranch ten miles in. An' next is Tim Mooney. Beyond St. Mary's Lake the settlers thicken up a bit."
"Any rustlers?"
"Wal, not any out-an'-out rustlers," replied Holbert evasively. "Rustler gangs have yet to settle in this section of Arizona."
"Wolves take toll of your calves, eh?"
"Cost me half a hundred head last winter. Did you ever hear of Killer Gray?"
"Not that I remember."
"Wal, you'd remember thet lofer, if you ever seen him. Big grey timber-wolf with a black ruff. He's got a small band an' he ranges this whole country."
"Why don't you kill him?"
"Huh! He's too smart for us. Jest natural cumin', for a young wolf."
"I like this Arizona timber-land," declared Huett, frankly, "And I'm set on a ranch somewhere south of the lake."
"Wal now, thet's interestin'. What did you say yore name was?"
"Logan Huett. I rode for several cattle outfits before I worked as scout and hunter for Crook in his Apache campaign."
"I kinda reckoned you was a soldier," returned Holbert genially. "Wal, Huett, you're as welcome out hyar as May flowers. I hope you don't locate too far south of us. It's shore lonely, an' in winter we're snowed in some seasons for weeks."
"Thanks. I'll pick me out a range down in the woods where it's not so cold... Would you be able to sell me a few cows and heifers, and a bull?"
"I shore would. An' dirt cheap, too, 'cause thet'd save me from makin' a drive to town before winter comes."
"Much obliged, Holbert. I've saved my wages. But they won't last long.
I'll pick up the cattle on my way back."
"Good. An' how soon, Huett?"
"Before the snow flies."
All the way into Flagg next day Logan's practical mind resolved a daring query. Why not wire Lucinda to come West to marry him? He resisted this idea, repudiated it, but it returned all the stronger. Logan's mother had not long survived his father. He had a brother and sister living somewhere in Illinois. Therefore since he had no kindred ties, he did not see why it would not be politic to save the time and expense that it would take to get him to Missouri. He had already bought cattle. He was eager to buy horses, oxen, wagon, tools, guns, and hurry back to Sycamore Canyon. The more time he had in Flagg the better bargains he could find.
Flagg was a cattle and lumber town, important since the advent of the railroad some half-dozen years previously. It had grown since Huett's last visit. The main block presented a solid front of saloons and gambling-halls--places Logan resolved to give a wide berth. He was no longer a cowboy. Some man directed him to a livery-stable, where he turned over his horse. Next he left his pack at a lodging-house and hunted up a barber-shop. It was dusk when he left there. The first restaurant he encountered was run by a Chinaman and evidently a rendezvous for cowboys, of which the town appeared full. Logan ate and listened.
After supper he strolled down to the railroad station, a rude frame structure in the centre of a square facing the main street. Evidently a train was expected. The station and platform presented a lively scene with cowboys, cattle-men, railroad men, Indians, and Mexicans moving about, Logan's walk became a lagging one, and ended short of the station-house. It seemed to him that
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