Such was Cowan’s, the best patronized place in many hot and dusty miles and the Mecca of the cowboys from the surrounding ranches.  Often at night these riders of the range gathered in the humble building and told tales of exceeding interest; and on these occasions one might see a row of ponies standing before the building, heads down and quiet.  It is strange how alike cow-ponies look in the dim light of the stars.  On the south side of the saloon, weak, yellow lamp light filtered through the dirt on the window panes and fell in distorted patches on the plain, blotched in places by the shadows of the wooden substitutes for glass.

It was a moonlight night late in the fall, after the last beef round-up was over and the last drive outfit home again, that two cow-ponies stood in front of Cowan’s while their owners lolled against the bar and talked over the latest sensation—­the fencing in of the West Valley range, and the way Hopalong Cassidy and his trail outfit had opened up the old drive trail across it.  The news was a month old, but it was the last event of any importance and was still good to laugh over.

“Boys,” remarked the proprietor, “I want you to meet Mr. Elkins.  He came down that trail last week, an’ he didn’t see no fence across it.”  The man at the table arose slowly.  “Mr. Elkins, this is Sandy Lucas, an’ Wood Wright, of the C-80.  Mr. Elkins here has been a-looking over the country, sizing up what the beef prospects will be for next year; an’ he knows all about wire fences.  Here’s how,” he smiled, treating on the house.

Mr. Elkins touched the glass to his bearded lips and set it down untasted while he joked over the sharp rebuff so lately administered to wire fences in that part of the country.  While he was an ex-cow-puncher he believed that he was above allowing prejudice to sway his judgment, and it was his opinion, after careful thought, that barb wire was harmful to the best interests of the range.  He had ridden over a great part of the cattle country in the last few yeas, and after reviewing the existing conditions as he understood them, his verdict must go as stated, and emphatically.  He launched gracefully into a slowly delivered and lengthy discourse upon the subject, which proved to be so entertaining that his companions were content to listen and nod with comprehension.  They had never met any one who was so well qualified to discuss the pros and cons of the barb-wire fence question, and they learned many things which they had never heard before.  This was very gratifying to Mr. Elkins, who drew largely upon hearsay, his own vivid imagination, and a healthy logic.  He was very glad to talk to men who had the welfare of the range at heart, and he hoped soon to meet the man who had taken the initiative in giving barb wire its first serious setback on that rich and magnificent southern range.

“You shore ought to meet Cassidy—­he’s a fine man,” remarked Lucas with enthusiasm.  “You’ll not find any better, no matter where you look.  But you ain’t touched yore liquor,” he finished with surprise.