“I have lost no mavericks, that I know of,” replied Hugh, stiffly. “May I ask what you are doing and what you are looking for?” “I am attending to my own affairs,” replied the man. “I am on my own land, which, perhaps, is more than you can say for yourself.” “I may not be on my own land,” answered Hugh, half angrily, “but I am attending to my own business. Am I breaking any law by taking a gallop across the valley, or resting by this stream of water?” The stranger laughed good-naturedly at Hugh’s irritation. “Hot blood of youth,” said he; “come, don’t be so touchy. There’s only a small thing between us—a narrow stream of spring water. You look like a manly fellow, and I suppose you are all right, although you are a stranger to me.” “I am a resident of Meade,” said Hugh, “and the cashier of one of its banks.” “Is that so?” asked the man, in surprise. “You are Mr. Stanton, I reckon, Captain Osborn’s friend from Chicago.” “Exactly,” replied Hugh. “May I inquire your name?” The stranger threw himself again into his saddle, touched spurs to his horse, and, at a single leap, cleared the brook. Dismounting at Hugh’s side, he said, “My name is Horton. My home is about a mile from here, in Horton’s Grove.” Hugh’s breath was almost taken away. Here before him stood the great cattle king, John B. Horton, whose estimated wealth was ten million dollars; and yet a man as free from affectation as a cowboy. “Give us your hand, young man,” said he. “It is well that we should be acquainted. I have been intending to come in and see you, but am kept so exceedingly busy, looking after my cattle, that I have but little time for social matters. Through the machinations of a band of cattle thieves, during the last year I have lost over a thousand head of beeves that were ready for the market.” “Why, that is a terrible loss, Mr. Horton,” observed Hugh. “Is it not possible to catch the thieves?” “Easier said than done, young man,” replied the cattle baron. “I would n’t care much for the thirty or forty thousand dollars’ worth of cattle they have already taken, if I could only break up the gang. However, I do not wish to bore you with a ranchman’s troubles. How do you like our country?” “Oh, very much,” replied Hugh. “I am well pleased with it so far. It seems to be settled with a thrifty class of farmers, and their crops are certainly looking well.” John Horton laughed derisively. “Farmers!” he ejaculated. “Why, young man, in five years there will not be a so-called farmer within one hundred miles of where you are now standing. The influx of self-styled settlers and farmers is a spasmodic farce, transitory in the extreme. You doubtless regard Meade as a growing, healthy town; yet, within five years from to-day, I shall pasture my cattle on the grass that will be growing in her streets.” “You astonish me,” said Hugh. “With such a calamity confronting us there can be left but little hope.”