"Something to that," Barrett admitted, in humor grim enough to go any length, spare nobody in the reckoning he was determined to force. 'But we'd need horses and machinery, and money to buy grub. We can't reach up and pull that stuff out of the air."
"I've got some salted down"—Fred patted his girdle to signify where he carried it—"and I know a man the gover'ment's got up here teachin' them sneakin' Arapahoes to farm, that'll lend us some mowers and rakes. I know he will, for them dam' Indians won't no more make hay than they'll eat it. He told me I could have 'em last year when I was figgerin' on breakin' out on this move, but I didn't have erry pardner I could bank on that time. He got cold chisels down to the end of the spine of his backbone when it come to takin' possession of the land."
"I don't guarantee this one to stand without hitchin', Fred."
"We might ride past and take a look at that land," Fred suggested. "It's right on the gover'ment road, a little ways from Bonita."
"All right."
"Springs bust up out of the ground around there, like the weight of the mountains gushed 'em up, makin' little lakes as clear as lookin' glasses, Irrigated all from underneath, never need a ditch to grow all the stuff a man could plant. I call it Marsh Meadows."
"You must have been spying out the land a long time, to know it the way you do."
"Yes, I've had my eye on it ever since that little Alma Nearing was a kid. But I never thought of nestin'
