"Wal, we'll have some taters and sow-belly in a giff or two. Want 'o wash?" Mose gladly took advantage of the opportunity to clean the dust and grime from his skin, though his head was dizzy with hunger. The food was bacon, eggs, and potatoes, but it was fairly well cooked, and he ate with great satisfaction. The men were very much interested in him, and tried to get at the heart of his relation to Reynolds, but he evaded them. They were lanky Missourians, types already familiar to him, and he did not care to make confidants of them. The woman was a graceless figure, a silent household drudge, sullenly sad, and gaunt, and sickly. Mose offered to pay for his breakfast, but the boss waved it aside and said: "Oh, that's all right; we don't see enough people pass to charge, for a breakfast. Besides, we're part o' the Reynolds' outfit, anyway." As Mose swung into the saddle his heart was light. Away to the south a long low cloud of smoke hung. "What is that?" he asked. "That's the bull-gine on the Great Western; we got two railroads now." "Which is two too many," said the other man. "First you know the cattle business will be wiped out o' 'Rickaree County just as it is bein' wiped out in Cheyenne and Runnin' Bear. Nesters and cow milkers are comin' in, and will be buildin' fences yet." "Not in my day," said the host. "Well, so long," said Mose, and rode away. The Reynolds' ranch house was built close beside a small creek which had cut deep into the bottom of a narrow valley between two pinon-covered hills. It squat in the valley like a tortoise, but was much more comfortable than most ranch houses of the county. It was surrounded by long sheds and circular corrals of pine logs, and looked to be what it was, a den in which to seek shelter. A blacksmith's forge was sending up a shower of sparks as Mose rode through the gate and up to the main stable. A long-bearded old man tinkering at some repairs to a plow nodded at the youth without speaking. "Is Mr. Reynolds at home?" asked Mose. "No, but he'll be here in a second--jest rode over the hill to look at a sick colt. Git off an' make yuself comfortable." Mose slipped off his horse and stood watching the queer old fellow as he squinted and hammered upon a piece of iron, chewing furiously meanwhile at his tobacco. It was plain his skill was severely taxed by the complexity of the task in hand. As he stood waiting Mose saw a pretty young woman come out of the house and take a babe from the ground with matronly impatience of the dirt upon its dress. The old man followed the direction of the young man's eyes and mumbled: "Old man's girl.... Her child." Mose asked no questions, but it gave a new and powerful interest to the graceful figure of the girl. Occasionally the old man lifted his eyes toward the ridge, as if looking for some one, and at last said, "Old man--comin'."