"Oh, jest picked you up, hey? I thought mebby you was some kin to him. Ain't interested in the cattle, are you? Well, I jest thought you might be, being put in over Jeff that way, you know. Nice boy, that, but hot-headed as a goat. He'll be making hair bridles down in Yuma some day, I reckon. His old man was the same way. So you ain't no kin to the judge and've got no int'rest in the cattle, either, eh? H'm, how long do you figure on holding down that job?" "Don't know," replied Hardy; "might quit to-day or get fired to-morrow. It's a good place, though." "Not the only one, though," suggested the sheepman shrewdly, "not by a dam' sight! Ever investigate the sheep business? No? Then you've overlooked something! I've lived in this country for nigh onto twenty years, and followed most every line of business, but I didn't make my pile punching cows, nor running a store, neither--I made it _raising sheep_. Started in with nothing at the time of the big drought in '92, herding on shares. Sheep did well in them good years that followed, and first thing I knew I was a sheepman. Now I've got forty thousand head, and I'm making a hundred per cent on my investment every year. Of course, if there comes a drought I'll lose half of 'em, but did you ever sit down and figure out a hundred per cent a year? Well, five thousand this year is ten next year, and ten is twenty the next year, and the twenty looks like forty thousand dollars at the end of three years. That's quite a jag of money, eh? I won't say what it would be in three years more, but here's the point. You're a young man and out to make a stake, I suppose, like the rest of 'em. What's the use of wasting your time and energy trying to hold that bunch of half-starved cows together? What's the use of going into a _poor_ business, man, when there's a _better_ business; and I'll tell you right now, the sheep business is the coming industry of Arizona. The sheepmen are going to own this country, from Flag to the Mexican line, and you might as well git on the boat, boy, before it's too late." He paused, as if waiting for his points to sink home; then he reached out and tapped his listener confidentially on the knee. "Hardy," he said, "I like your style. You've got a head, and you know how to keep your mouth shut. More'n that, you don't drink. A man like you could git to be a boss sheep-herder in six months; you could make a small fortune in three years and never know you was workin'. You don't need to work, boy; I kin git a hundred men to work--what I want is a man that can _think_. Now, say, I'm goin' to need a man pretty soon--come around and see me some time." "All right," said Hardy, reluctantly, "but I might as well tell you now that I'm satisfied where I am."