“Hm!” Moyese was stroking his bare chin with a crookt forefinger.  “I suppose if I were the story-book villain, I’d say ’yes, you must teach ‘em to be honest’; but I don’t.  Fact is, Mr. Missionary, if you go into the ethics of things, you’re stumped the first bat:  who gave us their land, in the first place?  This whole business isn’t a golden rule job:  it’s an iron proposition; and if I were an under-dog beaten in the game by the law that rules all life, I’d take half a bone rather than no meat.  I make a point of never quarreling with the conditions that existed when I came into the world.  I accept ’em and make the best of ’em; and I advise you to do the same.”

“You can’t take the contracts of a bargain-counter to regulate the things of the spirit, Mr. Senator.”

“Oh, as for things of the spirit,” deprecated the Senator, smiling the big soft smile that lost itself down in his vest; and he spread his broad palms in suave protest, “don’t please quote spirit to me!  I have all I can do managing things right here on earth.  To put it briefly, far as this sheep business is concerned, if you can’t get the sheep across the saddle between the Holy Cross and the Rim Rocks, you want to bring ’em along the trail through my ranch?”

“That’s it,” assented Wayland.  “I’ve issued grazing permits for the Upper Range:  and it only remains to get your permission to drive them across the land that is not Forest Range.”

The Senator crossed his legs and hung his hat on one knee.

“As I make it out, here’s our situation!  I ask MacDonald here, who is the richest sheepman west of the Mississippi, what’s he willing to do for the party.  Far as I can see without a telescope or microscope, he doesn’t raise a finger—­won’t even take out papers so he can vote!  I ask Parson Williams here what he is willing to do for the party; and he objects to his copper-gentry taking a free-for-all forty cents on the dollar.  Then, you both come asking me to pass fifteen-thousand sheep across my ranch to the Rim Rocks, though they ruin the pasture and there isn’t room enough for all the cattle, let alone sheep.  I hate ’em!  I’m free to say I hate ’em!  Every cattleman hates the sheep business.  We haven’t Range enough for our cattle, let alone sheep and this fool business of fencing off free pasturage in Forest Reserves.  And your sheep herders never make settlers.  You know how it is.  We’d run your sheep to Hades if we could!  We aren’t all in the missionary business like Williams.  We are in for what we can get; and this nation is the biggest nation on earth because all men are free to go in for all they can get.  The sheep destroy the Range:  and I’m cattle!  You neither of you raise a hand to help the party; and I’m a plain party man; yes, I guess, Miss Eleanor—­I’m a spoilsman, all right; and you come asking favors of me.  It isn’t reasonable; but I’ll tell you what I’ll do.  I’ll show