WHEN Hugh told Captain Osborn of his conversation with Judge Lynn, the captain laughed. “And so he told you the country was going to the dogs, did he? Well, my boy, when Judge Lynn, as he is called, imbibes a few drinks of whiskey, he is fond of uttering prophecies of the nature you describe. He owes everybody in town. I would not be surprised if he would ask you for a loan of five or ten dollars before a week.” “Well, if he should,” asked Hugh, looking up, “would I be safe in letting him have it? Would he not return it?” “Never,” returned the captain; “he was never known to pay even the most trivial debt unless compelled to do so; yet he is a rather good fellow for all that—does no one any particular harm. He served one term in the legislature, and ever since has had an idea that he is a great political factor. As to the hot wind part of his story, that is the stereotyped cry of the cattlemen. I presume Lynn is getting ready to make a speech to a cowboy audience. I have lived here for five years. There was little or no farming attempted during the first and second years, but for the last three years the agricultural yield has been enormous. I have never yet experienced the hot winds. The rain belt is, year by year, creeping westward, and the so-called arid region is giving way before the farmer’s plow.” “I suppose,” said Hugh, “that it is simply a war between the cattlemen on the one hand and the farmers on the other. The elements are not taking sides.” “I should say,” replied the captain, “from the crops we are raising, that the elements are taking the farmers’ side. By the way,” he continued, “Major Hampton called this morning, and asked me to present his compliments to you. He wishes you to call at his home this evening, and I promised him that you would do so.” “Thank you,” said Hugh. “The major has been away almost two weeks. I wonder if he found anything of the cattle thieves.” “No,” replied the captain; “he got on their supposed trail, and followed it to St. Louis, only to learn he was mistaken after reaching there. The major is certainly a most persistent man.” That evening Hugh called at Major Hampton’s home. His house was a cottage in design, although large and roomy. There were little porches here and there, and a wide veranda in front. The yard was enclosed by a neatly-painted fence. A green, velvety lawn evinced much care. The major met Hugh at the door. “Come in, come right in,” said he, cheerily, as he ushered Hugh into his library. Low, richly-carved bookcases occupied the walls. Every shelf was filled with tawny-colored volumes. Above one of the bookcases was a large mounted buffalo head, and across the room, as a foil for the buffalo trophy, was a pair of mounted Texas steer horns, measuring almost six feet from tip to tip. A few bronzes and choice paintings, artistically arranged, set off the room. The ceiling was delicately frescoed in blue and gold, while a deep frieze of red suggested warmth.