“Charitable old cuss—­that same Brown!  I was figuring on the hay to kinda ease through next winter.  Do yuh know, Dilly, the range is just going t’ be a death-trap, with all them damn fences for the stock to drift into.  Another winter half as bad as the last one was will sure put the finishing touches to the Double-Crank—­unless we get busy and do something.”  Billy, his face worn and his eyes holding that tired look which comes of nights sleepless and of looking long upon trouble, turned and began to pull absently at a splintered place in the gatepost.  He had stopped Dill at the corral to have a talk with him, because to him the house was as desolate as if a dear one lay dead inside.  Flora was at home—­trust his eyes to see her face appear briefly at the window when he rode up!—­but he could not yet quite endure to face her and her cold greeting.

Dill, looking to Billy longer and lanker and mere melancholy than ever, caressed his chin meditatively and regarded Billy in his wistful, half-deprecating way.  With the bitter knowledge that his castle, and with it Dill’s fortune, was toppling, Billy could hardly bear to meet that look.  And he had planned such great things, and had meant to make Dilly a millionaire!

“What would you advise, William, under the present unfavorable conditions?” asked Dill hesitatingly.

“Oh, I dunno.  I’ve laid awake nights tryin’ to pick a winning card.  If it was me, and me alone, I’d pull stakes and hunt another range—­and I’d go gunning after the first damn’ man that stuck up a post to hang barb-wire on.  But after me making such a rotten-poor job uh running the Double-Crank, I don’t feel called on to lay down the law to anybody!”

“If you will permit me to pass judgment, William, I will say that you have shown an ability for managing men and affairs which I consider remarkable; quite remarkable.  You, perhaps, do not go deep enough in searching for the cause of our misfortunes.  It is not bad management or the hard winter, or Mr. Brown, even—­and I blame myself bitterly for failing to read aright the ‘handwriting on the wall,’ to quote scripture, which I seldom do.  If you have ever read history, William, you must know—­even if you have not read history you should know from observation—­how irresistible is the march of progress; how utterly futile it is for individuals to attempt to defy it.  I should have known that the shadow of a great change has fallen on the West—­the West of the wide, open ranges and the cattle and the cowboy who tends them.  I should have seen it, but I did not.  I was culpably careless.

“Brown saw it, and that, William, is why he sold the Double-Crank to me. He saw that the range was doomed, and instead of being swallowed with the open range he very wisely changed his business; he became allied with Progress, and he was in the front rank.  While we are being ‘broken’ on the wheel of evolutionary change, he will make his millions—­”