"That's it! Burros! I hadn't thought of burros--me on one of 'em--slapping with my hat to get two miles to the gallon! That's it, burros! Two of them is better!" "And how about snows? There may be a snow yet this month that is deeper than you are tall." "Whoopee for the snow!" yelled the midget. "Me with a mackinaw and boots, and mittens and a shovel. Snow! Clean white snow! I love it! But I haven't seen any clean snow for years. All that you ever see now is the dirty slush that they scrape off the streetcar tracks. I sure would be disappointed, Mister Welborn, if you didn't have a lot of clean snow. And you have some sort of a shack, don't you? And we can cut a lot of wood, and have plenty of blankets--en books and magazines. And we can haul out a lot of grub, and a first-aid kit and such. And you don't have a big family, do you, Mister Welborn, and I wouldn't be much in the way, would I?" "No, I am all alone," said Welborn trying as best he could to answer the many questions. "I have no family and I do have a shack that is very comfortable. It has a fireplace and a stove. I have plenty of blankets and wood and grub. But what about sickness--home-sickness! What about the terrors of loneliness that sometimes drive people mad! The wide open spaces have their handicaps, as I well know. For a year or more I have had just that experience. I have suffered, along with the joys of being wholly alone. Truly, I went into it with a bigger aversion to human society than you have, and I have not escaped. "Yes, I have a shack, a good one, and a few score acres, but it's not a ranch. It's not stocked, has no barn or stables, and no crop but the native grass. It was a dreamer's plaything and I bought it with scant savings that should have been spent on another project. But it looked like I just had to own it in order to carry on." "What's your other project?" asked Davy, curious to know why a man with a ranch would not be ranching.