“As near as I can make out, I was on the side of the law,” Bart stated. “Leastways I was in the powder squad that wrecked the bridge and the sheriff headed the party. My participation was accidental. I saw Wellman and another man easing out of town and I trailed them, arriving just as they touched off the charge, so you might say I acted the rôle of the passive spectator. The whole town boiled out and we dispersed among the crowd. I was dead anxious to be lined up with law and order, but with the law on both sides I couldn’t quite make out which one was proper, so I flitted.” “Any idea who led the fight against Mattison?” Carver asked. “Not a guess--unless it was Freel,” Bart denied. “He’s Wellman’s head deputy and it might have been him--only I can’t someway picture Freel as indulging in a fracas where other folks will be shooting back at him.” “There’s quite a bunch of boys in the bunk house,” Carver said. “Right after breakfast I’ll send over a bunch to help you start the house.” “Right after breakfast I’ll be riding toward Caldwell,” said Bart. “In proportion to the way Oval Springs has growed, I’d judge that Caldwell would be bigger than London by now.” “Caldwell has about a fourth the population she had three months ago,” Carver informed. “I’d as leave see a town that’s shrunk as one that has growed,” Bart philosophically decided. “I’m not particular, and I’m bound to find it filled with new interests. Just two days; then I’ll be back.” In the early evening Carver mounted the cow trail that threaded the low dip in the ridge between his place and Bart’s claim. As he topped it he could see Molly coming up the hill from the cabin. They frequently met here for a brief chat in the evenings. “You mustn’t mind Bart’s rambling off for a few days,” he said, as the girl joined him. “He’s stayed with it in good shape and it’s only in the last week he’s been restless. He’ll be back on the job in a day or two.” He allowed his gaze to drift across the broad acreage of plowed ground in the bottoms,--his ground, seeded to winter wheat. “Eight hundred acres seeded to wheat,” he stated. “All put in by trading around. I’ve got considerable of a farm, but don’t even own one plow of my own--nor a drill. The grub-liners put up my fences and broke all my horses to work. So far I’ve worried along without much of an outlay of cash; not one cent paid out for labor. But I’m in debt somewhat for seed wheat and provisions to feed the bunk house occupants that turn up every night.” He directed her gaze over the rich bottom land extending for five miles down the valley to a point where the little town of Alvin had come into being.