“Come on,” said he.  “My rig’s over behind that grease-wood.  You’re a new one, ain’t ye?”

Bob nodded.

“That horse is branded pretty thick,” he said by way of diversion.

The man chuckled.

“Have to turn his skin other side out to get another one on,” he agreed.

They drove down an old dim road that avoided the difficulties of the canon.  At camp they found the surries just loading up.  Bob took his place.  Before the rigs started back, the gray man, catching sight of the pump man, drew him aside and said several things very vigorously.  The pump man answered with some indignation, pointing finally to Bob.  Instantly the gray man whirled to inspect the young fellow.  Then he shot a last remark, turned and climbed grumpily into his vehicle.

At the station Bob tried to draw Selwyn aside for a conversation.

“I’ll be with you when the train starts, old man,” replied Selwyn, “but I’ve got to stick close to these prospects.  There’s a gang of knockers hanging around here always, just waiting for a chance to lip in.”

When the train started, however, Selwyn came back to drop into Bob’s seat with a wearied sigh.

“Gosh!  I get sick of handing out dope to these yaps,” said he.  “I was afraid for a while it was going to blow.  Looked like it.”

“What of it?” asked Bob.

“When it blows up here, it’d lift the feathers off a chicken and the chicken off the earth,” explained Selwyn.  “I’ve seen more than one good prospect ruined by a bad day.”

“How’d you come out?” inquired Bob.

“Got one.  He handed over his first payment on the spot.  Funny how these yahoos almost always bring their cash right with ’em.  Other’s no good.  I get so I can spot that kind the first three words.  They’re always too blame enthusiastic about the country and the Company.  Seems like they try to pay for their entertainment by jollying us along.  Don’t fool me any.  When a man begins to object to things, you know he’s thinking of buying.”

Bob listened to this wisdom with some amusement.  “How’d you explain when the stream stopped?” he asked.

“Why,” said Selwyn, looking straight ahead, “didn’t you hear Mr. Oldham?  They turned the water into the Upper Ditch to irrigate the Foothill Tracts.”

Bob laughed.  “You’re not much of a liar, Selwyn,” he said pleasantly.  “Failure of gasoline would hit it nearer.”

“Oh, that’s where you went,” said Selwyn.  “I ought to have kept my eye on you closer.”

He fell silent, and Bob eyed him speculatively.  He liked the young fellow’s clear, frank cast of countenance.

“Look here, Selwyn,” he broke out, “do you like this bunco game?”

“I don’t like the methods,” replied Selwyn promptly; “but you are mistaken when you think it’s a bunco game.  The land is good; there’s plenty of artesian water to be had; and we don’t sell at a fancy price.  We’ve located over eight hundred families up there at Lucky Lands, and three out of four are making good.  The fourth simply hadn’t the capital to hold out until returns came in.  It’s as good a small-ranch proposition as they could find.  If I didn’t think so, I wouldn’t be in it for a minute.”