His wife exclaimed in appeal, “Oh, John, if Mr. Bryant really means it, why don’t you say yes?  I can’t understand why he makes us such a fine offer, but he is making it.  We can start again; we’ll be back in a farming country like what we’re used to, even if it isn’t in Illinois; we’ll have a farm of our own, a home of our own, and will not have to rent.  Oh, why don’t you say yes?”

The rancher looked from his wife to Bryant and back again, pursing his lips.

“But I don’t understand this,” he said.

“You heard what he explained,” she replied, anxiously.  “He expects to pay off the mortgage and be rid of Mr. Menocal.  Perhaps he knows the sheep business better than you do; you never did learn it well, John, and you ought never to have stopped farming.  You were a good farmer; you will be again.  We can go on this place in Nebraska and raise corn and wheat and hogs, and I’ll have chickens to help clear the debt.  Why, it’s a chance for us to be independent again, and have a home, and neighbours, and attend church, and—­and be happy, John!”

“That’s so,” her husband agreed.

“We are going to leave here anyway,” she continued to urge.  “We wouldn’t have had anything but the money from the sheep, but now you’ll be getting a farm, too.  I’d think you’d jump at Mr. Bryant’s offer.”

“But maybe, after all, the ranch is worth more than I thought,” Stevenson speculated.

His wife sank back in her seat, picked up her sewing, and tried to resume her task, but her fingers trembled and her lashes were winking fast.  Lee gazed at her sympathetically.  Then he lifted his hat from the floor and stood up.

“Well, there are other places I can trade for,” he remarked.  “I thought I was doing you a good turn in proposing the exchange, especially as you’re about to lose your place.  I wouldn’t be beating you out of anything, certainly, and as your wife says, you’d really be getting something for nothing.  The mortgage is due next week, you must remember.”

Stevenson’s mind, however, was running in another channel.

“I’ll tell you how we can deal,” he said, with an assumption of shrewdness.  “You pay me the five thousand you plan to pay off the mortgage with, and get Menocal to renew the loan.  Five thousand—­why, my equity is worth more than that!  Besides, you’ve some scheme for making money out of this ranch.”

“What if I have?”

“That makes a difference when it comes to a deal.”

“Not with me,” the engineer stated, curtly.  “If that’s your attitude, we’ll drop the matter.  Probably you yourself can arrange an extension of the mortgage or a renewal, if you’re minded to remain.”

“You know, John, that you can’t; Mr. Menocal has already refused,” Mrs. Stevenson said, in a low voice.

“I ought to have cash in addition to your farm,” her husband insisted.

“You get none,” Lee replied.  “Well, this trade is what I came to see you about.  From the way you talked when I was here last I supposed you might consider my offer favourably, but I guess we can’t do business.  I’ll ride on to Bartolo.”