That a covert range ring was working in Austin—as a beef ring later was to work in Washington—as well as a river-improvements ring which was hastening to sell or take over all the state lands at a few cents the acre; and that this sinister gang of far-sighted and unscrupulous men had visions of a day of a vast empire of their own, stocked with cattle which had cost no more than the stealing, branding and driving, could then be no more than suspected by Nabours or Dalhart. But both men were shrewd. Both knew wild ways and wild lands, and both knew cows, though neither had any real vision as to the swift future of cows. They knew that crooked work had been going on, of so large and so vicious an extent as to violate all the ancient and sacred law of custom, as well as the written law. Both men were sober as they rode at their work. “And to think,” said the old foreman of Del Sol, “they wouldn’t spare even a girl like her!” Dalhart, lean and bearded adventurer in cows, nodded. “But there ain’t none like her!” Nabours paused for a time. “You been on our string three hours.” “Three hours is enough, _amigo_. Three minutes was enough. I’ve never knowed such a woman could ever be in all the world.” “There’s others think so.” “I’m sorry for them.” “Why?” “Because I’m going to marry that girl ef hit’s the lastest thing I do.” “Others has told me such,” replied Jim Nabours, not so much concerned. “It’s right funny about women. Now, I tried for all my early life to marry a girl down in San Felipe. I done right well, and was going to ast her; but another man done married her first. All right, he done it fair, and I didn’t kick. I set down to wait him out, and shore enough, he done die in about ten year and she was a widder. I begin to save up enough to git me new spurs and hat and saddle blankets, and allow to begin courting of Sarah right after branding time—and damn me, ef a Dutch colonist don’t up and marry her afore I git around to it! He last four year, and Sam Doan shot him one day over around Round Rock. I was in debt to Sam fer that, fer now Sarah was a widder oncet more. “This time I didn’t lose no time. I rid over and told Sarah how it laid. ‘Why, law!’ says she. ‘Why Jim, I never knowed you choose to marry me, er of course I’d of married you rather’n ary one of them others! Why didn’t you say so?’ “‘Well, I say so now,’ says I. ‘Even ef I’m crowding forty-eight, I say so.’ “So we done set the day. And right then the war bust in our face and I rid off to the war. I sort of forgot to git married to Sarah, in the excitement. Well, when I come back I was apast fifty, and broke. When I came to look things up I find Sarah has married a Arkansaw widower with eight children over on the Brazos! “That settled me with women. The game’s too damn rapid fer a man like me.” “Well, it ain’t going to be too rapid fer me.” “No? Now look here! Let me ast you something—and let me tell you something. I ast you—likewise I tell you.