It was a courtly glossy-faced pursuer of gainful occupations according to a limited light and very much according to a belief that freedom meant freedom to make and take and break independent of the other fellow’s rights.  In fact, as Eleanor looked over the dragon with its wide strong jaw and plausible eyes and big gripping hand she very much doubted whether the conception had ever dawned on the big dome head that the other fellow had any rights.  The man was not the baby-eating monster of the muck-rakers.  Neither was he a gentleman—­he had had a narrow escape from that—­the next generation of him would probably be one.  He gave the impression of a passion for only one thing—­getting.  If people or things or laws came in the way of that getting, so much the worse for them.

Strident laughter blew up on the wind from the cow camp of the Arizona drovers in the Valley.

“Rough rascals,” ejaculated Moyese fanning himself with his hat.  “I wish you wouldn’t wander round too much alone when these drover fellows are here from Arizona.  Birds of passage, you know?  Sheriff can’t pursue ’em into another State!  When it’s pay day, whiskey flows pretty free—­pretty free!  Wish you wouldn’t wander alone too much when they’re up this way.”

“Mr. Senator, I move we come to business, and leave poetry and flowers and palaver out of it—­”

The Senator turned suavely and faced the impatient sheep-rancher.

“To be sure!  Let us get down to business, MacDonald, by all means; but before we go any farther, let me ask you a straight question!  Clearing the field before action, Miss Eleanor!  Bat come over here and entertain Miss Eleanor.  Miss MacDonald, this is my man Friday—­Brydges, Miss MacDonald:  it’s Brydges, you know, sets us all down fools to posterity by reporting our speeches for the newspapers.”

Brydges winked as he got his limp collar back to his neck.  It wasn’t his part to tell how many speeches came in reported before delivered; how many were never delivered at all.

The Senator had stopped fanning himself.  He was caressing his shaven chin and taking the measure of the rancher; a tall man, straight and lithe as a whip, lean and clean-limbed and swarthy.

“MacDonald, why don’t you take out your naturalization papers so you can vote at election?  In the eyes of the law, you’re still an alien.”

“Alien?  What has that to do with paying grazing fees for sheep on the Forest Range?” MacDonald’s black eyes closed to a tiny slit of shiny light.  “Mr. Senator,” he said tersely, “how much do you want?”

Mr. Senator refused to be perturbed by the edge of that question.

“You ask Wayland how much the grazing fee is.  You know it’s my belief there ought to be no grazing fee.  We stockmen can take care of ourselves without Washington worrying—­”

“Yes,” interrupted Williams, “you took such good care of the sheep herders last spring, some of you put them to eternal sleep.”