f wheels and hoofs.
Donald McCrae appeared in a buckboard drawn by a light team which he
was holding with difficulty. He pulled them to a momentary halt.

"Now, if you're ready, Mr. Farwell. Jump in quick. These little devils
won't stand. They haven't had any work for a week. All set? G'lang,
boys!"

They started with a rear and a furious rush that flung Farwell back
against the seat. In two hundred yards McCrae had them steadied,
hitting a gait that fairly ate up the miles.

Farwell sat silent, chewing an unlighted cigar, turning a new idea over
and over in his mind. This idea was to arrange for the purchase of
Talapus Ranch by the railway's land department. None knew better than
he that the taking of their water would mean absolute ruin to the
McCraes, as it did to others. For the others he cared nothing. But he
told himself that he owed something to the McCraes. They had treated
him decently, like a white man. He was under a certain obligation, and
here was a chance to return it many thousandfold. Also it would show
the McCrae girl that he was no common employee, but a man of influence.
He thought he had pull enough. Yes, when he came to think about it, it
was a shame that people like the McCraes should lose everything. Nobody
but the railway would buy their ranch, under the circumstances. But the
railway could do so, and likely make a profit. That would be fair to
everybody.

Once Farwell came to a conclusion he was prompt to act. He said,
without preliminary:

"McCrae, what do you want for that ranch of yours?"

"It's not for sale now," McCrae replied.

"Everything's for sale at some price," Farwell commented. "What's a
fair figure for it? I don't mean what you'll take--but what's it
worth?"

McCrae considered.

"There's a thousand acres, and all good. There's no better land in the
world. Then there's the buildings and fencing and stock and implements.
Hard to say, nowadays. Why, raw land in little patches is selling at
fancy figures. I should say as it stands--stocked and all--it's worth a
hundred and fifty thousand of any man's money."

"If I can find a buyer at that figure will you take it?"

"No I'm not selling."

"Now, look here," said Farwell, "you say your place is worth one
hundred and fifty thousand. That's with plenty of water for irrigation.
Say it is. But what's it worth without water?"

"Without water," said McCrae slowly, "the land itself is worth about
one dollar an acre. Twenty-fiv