“Ditch, seh, and wire net. Every pasture was a square swamp with a ditch around, and a wire net. Yu’ve heard the mournful, mixed-up sound a big bunch of cattle will make? Well, seh, as yu’ druv from the railroad to the Tulare frawg ranch yu’ could hear ’em a mile. Springtime they’d sing like girls in the organ loft, and by August they were about ready to hire out for bass. And all was fit to be soloists, if I’m a judge. But in a bad year it might only be twenty per cent. The pelican rushed ’em from the pasture right into the San Joaquin River, which was close by the property. The big balance of the herd stampeded, and though of course they came out on the banks again, the news had went around, and folks below at Hemlen eat most of ’em just to spite the company. Yu’ see, a frawg in a river is more hopeless than any maverick loose on the range. And they never struck any plan to brand their stock and prove ownership.” “Well, twenty per cent is good enough for me,” said Trampas, “if Rawhide don’t suit me.” “A hundred a month!” said the enthusiast. And busy calculations began to arise among them. “It went to fifty per cent,” pursued the Virginian, “when New York and Philadelphia got to biddin’ agaynst each other. Both cities had signs all over ’em claiming to furnish the Tulare frawg. And both had ’em all right. And same as cattle trains, yu’d see frawg trains tearing acrosst Arizona--big glass tanks with wire over ’em--through to New York, an’ the frawgs starin’ out.” “Why, George,” whispered a woman’s voice behind me, “he’s merely deceiving them! He’s merely making that stuff up out of his head.” “Yes, my dear, that’s merely what he’s doing.” “Well, I don’t see why you imagined I should care for this. I think I’ll go back.” “Better see it out, Daisy. This beats the geysers or anything we’re likely to find in the Yellowstone.” “Then I wish we had gone to Bar Harbor as usual,” said the lady, and she returned to her Pullman.