Joel’s faculties were grappling with the idea.  The two turned their horses homeward, casting an occasional glance to the southward, but were unrewarded by the sight of a dust cloud, the signal of an approaching herd.  The trail foreman was satisfied that he had instilled interest and inquiry into the boy’s mind, which, if carefully nurtured, might result in independence.  They had ridden several miles, discussing different matters, and when within sight of the homestead, Joel reined in his horse.  “Would you mind repeating,” said he, “what you said awhile ago, about control of a range by prior rights?”

The trail foreman freely responded to the awakened interest.  “On the range,” said he, “custom becomes law.  No doubt but it dates back to the first flocks and herds.  Its foundations rest on a sense of equity and justice which has always existed among pastoral people.  In America it dates from the first invasion of the Spanish.  Among us Texans, a man’s range is respected equally with his home.  By merely laying claim to the grazing privileges of public domain, and occupying it with flocks or herds, the consent of custom gives a man possession.  It is an asset that is bought and sold, and is only lost when abandoned.  In all human migrations, this custom has followed flocks and herds.  Title to land is the only condition to which the custom yields.”

“And we could claim this valley, by simply occupying it with cattle, and hold possession of its grazing privileges?” repeated the boy.

“By virtue of a custom, older than any law, you surely can.  It’s primal range to-day.  This is your epoch.  The buffalo preceded you, the settler, seeking a home, will follow you.  The opportunity is yours.  Go in and win.”

“But how can we get a start of cattle?” pondered Joel.

“Well, after I leave, you’re going to ask Forrest that question.  That old boy knows all the ins and outs, and he may surprise you.  There’s an old maxim about where there’s a will there’s a way.  Now if you have the will, I’ve a strong suspicion that your Mr. Quince will find the way.  Try him, anyhow.”

“Oh, I will,” assured Joel; “the first thing in the morning.”

The leaven of interest had found lodgment.  A pleasant evening was spent in the tent.  Before excusing the lads for the night, Priest said to the doctor:  “This is a fine cattle range, and I’d like your opinion about these boys starting a little ranch on the Beaver.”

“Well,” said the old physician, looking from Joel to Dell, “there are too many lawyers and doctors already.  The farmers raise nothing out here, and about the only prosperous people I meet are you cowmen.  You ride good horses, have means to secure your needs, and your general health is actually discouraging to my profession.  Yes, I think I’ll have to approve of the suggestion.  A life in the open, an evening by a camp-fire, a saddle for a pillow—­well, I wish I had my life to live over.  It wouldn’t surprise me to hear of Wells Brothers making a big success as ranchmen.  They have health and youth, and there’s nothing like beginning at the bottom of the ladder.  In fact, the proposition has my hearty approval.  Fight it out, boys; start a ranch.”