They cantered out the gate, thundered across the bridge, and passed Trillium before they pulled in on the grade of Wild Water . Saxon had chosen her field on the big spur of Sonoma Mountains as the objective of their ride.  
“Say, I bumped into something big this mornin' when I was goin' to fetch Ramona,” Billy said, the clay pit trouble for the time. “You know the hundred an' forty. I passed young Chavon along the road, an'—I don't know why—just for ducks, I guess—I up an' asked 'm if he thought the old man would lease the hundred an' forty to me. An' what d 'you think! He said the old man didn't own it. Was just leasin' it himself. That's how we was always seein' his cattle on it. It's a into his land, for he owns everything on three sides of it.
 
“Next I met Ping. He said Hilyard owned it an' was willin' to sell, only Chavon didn't have the price. Then, comin' back, I looked in on Payne. He's quit blacksmithin'—his back's hurtin' 'm from a kick—an' just startin' in for real estate. Sure, he said, Hilyard would sell, an' had already listed the land with 'm. Chavon's over-pastured it, an' Hilyard won't give 'm another lease.”
 
When they had climbed out of Wild Water Canyon they turned their horses about and halted on the where they could look across at the three wooded in the midst of the desired hundred and forty.
 
“We'll get it yet,” Saxon said.
 
“Sure we will,” Billy agreed with careless certitude. “I've ben lookin' over the big barn again. Just the thing for a raft of horses, an' a new roof'll be cheaper 'n I thought. Though neither Chavon or me'll be in the market to buy it right away, with the clay pinchin' out.”
 
When they reached Saxon's field, which they had learned was the property of Redwood Thompson, they tied the horses and entered it on foot. The hay, just cut, was being raked by Thompson, who hallo'd a greeting to them. It was a cloudless, windless day, and they sought refuge from the sun in the woods beyond. They encountered a dim trail.
 
“It's a cow trail,” Billy declared. “I bet they's a teeny pasture tucked away somewhere in them trees. Let's follow it.”
 
A quarter of an hour later, several hundred feet up the side of the spur, they emerged on an open, space of bare hillside. Most of the hundred and forty, two miles away, lay beneath them, while they were level with the tops of the three knolls. Billy paused to gaze upon the much-desired land, and Saxon joined him.
 
“What is that?” she asked, pointing toward the knolls. “Up the little canyon, to the left of it, there on the farthest , right under that spruce that's leaning over.”
 
What Billy saw was a white scar on the canyon wall.
 
“It's one on me,” he said, studying the scar. “I thought I knew every inch of that land, but I never seen that before. Why, I was right in there at the head of the canyon the first part of the winter. It's awful wild. Walls of the canyon like the sides of a steeple an' covered with thick woods.”
 
“What is it?” she asked. “A slide?”
 
“Must be—brought down by the heavy rains. If I don't miss my guess—” Billy broke off, forgetting in the with which he continued to look.
 
“Hilyard'll sell for thirty an acre,” he began again, disconnectedly. “Good land, bad land, an' all, just as it runs, thirty an acre. That's forty-two hundred. Payne's new at real estate, an' I'll make 'm split his commission an' get the easiest terms ever. We can re-borrow that four hundred from Gow Yum, an' I can borrow money on my horses an' —”
 
“Are you going to buy it to-day?” Saxon teased.
 
She scarcely touched the edge of his thought. He looked at her, as if he had heard, then forgot her the next moment.
 
“Head work,” he . “Head work. If I don't put over a hot one—”
 
He started back down the cow trail, Saxon, and called over his shoulder:
 
“Come on. Let's . I wanta ride over an' look at that.”
 
So rapidly did he go down the trail and across the field, that Saxon had no time for questions. She was almost breathless from her effort to keep up with him.
 
“What is it?” she begged, as he lifted her to the saddle.
 
“Maybe it's all a joke—I'll tell you about it afterward,” he put her off.
 
They on the levels, down the gentler slopes of road, and not until on the steep descent of Wild Water canyon did they to a walk. Billy's preoccupation was gone, and Saxon took advantage to a subject which had been on her mind for some time.
 
“Clara Hastings told me the other day that they're going to have a house party. The Hazards are to be there, and the Halls, and Roy Blanchard....”
 
She looked at Billy anxiously. At the mention of Blanchard his head had tossed up as to a call. Slowly a whimsical twinkle began to glint up through the cloudy blue of his eyes.
 
“It's a long time since you told any man he was on his foot,” she ventured slyly.
 
Billy began to grin sheepishly.
 
“Aw, that's all right,” he said in mock-lordly fashion. “Roy Blanchard can come. I'll let 'm. All that was a long time ago. Besides, I 'm too busy to fool with such things.”
 
He urged his horse on at a faster walk, and as soon as the slope broke into a . At Trillium Covert they were .
 
“You'll have to stop for dinner first,” Saxon said, as they neared the gate of Madrono .
 
“You stop,” he answered. “I don't want no dinner.”
 
“But I want to go with you,” she pleaded. “What is it?”
 
“I don't dast tell you. You go on in an' get your dinner.”
 
“Not after that,” she said. “Nothing can keep me from coming along now.”
 
Half a mile farther on, they left the highway, passed through a patent gate which Billy had installed, and crossed the fields on a road which was coated thick with chalky dust. This was the road that led to Chavon's clay pit. The hundred and forty lay to the west. Two wagons, in a cloud of dust, came into sight.
 
“Your teams, Billy,” cried Saxon. “Think of it! Just by the use of the head, earning your money while you're riding around with me.”
 
“Makes me ashamed to think how much cash money each one of them teams is bringin' me in every day,” he acknowledged.
 
They were turning off from the road toward the bars which gave entrance to the one hundred and forty, when the driver of the foremost hallo'd and waved his hand. They drew in their horses and waited.
 
“The big roan's broke loose,” the driver said, as he stopped beside them. “Clean crazy loco—bitin', squealin', strikin', kickin'. Kicked clean out of the harness like it was paper. Bit a out of Baldy the size of a saucer, an' wound up by breakin' his own leg. Liveliest fifteen minutes I ever seen.”
 
“Sure it's broke?” Billy demanded sharply.
 
“Sure thing.”
 
“Well, after you unload, drive around by the other barn and get Ben. He's in the corral. Tell Matthews to be easy with 'm. An' get a gun. Sammy's got one. You'll have to see to the big roan. I ain't got time now.—Why couldn't Matthews a-come along with you for Ben? You'd save time.”
 
“Oh, he's just stickin' around waitin',” the driver answered. “He reckoned I could get Ben.”
 
“An' lose time, eh? Well, get a move on.”
 
“That's the way of it,” Billy to Saxon as they rode on. “No savve. No head. One man settin' down an' holdin his hands while another team drives outa its way doin what he oughta done. That's the trouble with two-dollar-a-day men.”
 
“With two-dollar-a-day heads,” Saxon said quickly. “What kind of heads do you expect for two dollars?”
 
“That's right, too,” Billy acknowledged the hit. “If they had better heads they'd be in the cities like all the rest of the better men. An' the better men are a lot of , too. They don't know the big chances in the country, or you couldn't hold 'm from it.”
 
Billy dismounted, took the three bars down, led his horse through, then put up the bars.
 
“When I get this place, there'll be a gate here,” he announced. “Pay for itself in no time. It's the thousan' an' one little things like this that count up big when you put 'm together.” He sighed . “I never used to think about such things, but when we shook Oakland I began to wise up. It was them San Leandro Porchugeeze that gave me my first eye-opener. I'd been asleep, before that.”
 
They skirted the lower of the three fields where the ripe hay stood uncut. Billy with disgust to a break in the fence, repaired, and on to the standing grain much-trampled by cattle.
 
“Them's the things,” he criticized. “Old style. An' look how thin that crop is, an' the shallow plowin'. Scrub cattle, scrub seed, scrub farmin'. Chavon's worked it for eight years now, an' never rested it once, never put anything in for what he took out, except the cattle into the stubble the minute the hay was on.”
 
In a pasture , farther on, they came upon a bunch of cattle.
 
“Look at that bull, Saxon. Scrub's no name for it. They oughta be a state law against lettin' such animals exist. No wonder Chavon's that land poor he's had to sink all his clay-pit earnin's into taxes an' interest. He can't make his land pay. Take this hundred an forty. Anybody with the savve can just rake silver dollars offen it. I'll show 'm.”
 
They passed the big adobe barn in the distance.
 
“A few dollars at the right time would a-saved hundreds on that roof,” Billy commented. “Well, anyway, I won't be payin' for any improvements when I buy. An I'll tell you another thing. This ranch is full of water, and if Glen Ellen ever grows they'll have to come to see me for their water supply.”
 
Billy knew the ranch , and took shor............