They ate, then, with that whole-souled attention to food which makes conversation impossible, Percival nibbling at first, but getting in some pretty fair work himself toward the finish, for he had not broken fast since morning. Observing this, Dog felt encouraged, very slightly, but his courage fell when he attempted to draw Percival into conversation on the long ride home, while the lad sat beside him, with Ducky perched precariously on the luggage in the rear. “This is a fine country,” he hazarded. “Gets a bit dry at times, of course.” “I don’t like it,” said Percival. “You will, all right. Probably the name sort of prejudiced you--Too Dry.” “What does a name matter?” Dog stuck to it. “Of course you heard about the big Too Dry Gulch Dam. I imagine they talk about that a lot back East.” “No.” “We had a project to dam the creek in Too Dry Gulch, above our place. Wasn’t going to cost only thirty million dollars, but that no-account Congressman of ours fumbled the cards somehow and fell down on the appropriation. Steve Martin, that runs the post office, he come out here to go into the real-estate business, and he did too, and he’s in it yet, but the boys kind of schemed around to get him made postmaster so he wouldn’t starve to death while he was waiting for the real-estate boom to start. You ever interested in real-estate?” “No.” * * * * * Dog gave it up for a while. He was pretty busy, anyway. Driving a Ford that has no front bushings, on a road that is composed chiefly of ruts with a generous sprinkling of crags that must be leaped, is a man-sized job by itself. When he finally resumed, it was via a third party. He addressed his remarks to Ducky, hollering them from the side of his mouth. “You didn’t know I was getting a washing-machine, did you?” “No, and I don’t care for it any,” came a jolted answer. “Seems to me we’re getting all-fired civilized lately. Next thing I know you’ll be sending away for a woman.” Dog laughed. Percival suddenly sat up straight and looked at him anxiously. “Are there no women?” This was, of course, as funny a thing as he could have said. Dog and Ducky laughed noisily, and the Ford, unattended for a split second, leaped into a ditch, and then, in answer to a savage jerk, hopped back onto the road, quivering from her nose to the place where her tail-light once was. “Well, I wouldn’t go so far as to say that,” said Dog. “There’s a nester in beyond about twenty miles that’s got a woman. He got her off the reservation near Parma, summer before last. They say she’s a pretty good cook for a squaw. We could go over and see her some time if you want to.”