"--So if any of you gentlemen could possibly take us out to the tract, we'd be eternally grateful, besides keeping our independence intact with the usual payment. Could you help us out?"
"We all came in on horseback," Weary stated with a gentle firmness that was intended to kill their hopes as painlessly as possible.
"Wouldn't there be room on behind?" asked Miss Allen with hope still alive and flourishing.
"Lots of room," Weary assured her. "More room than you could possibly use."
"But isn't there any kind of a rig that you could buy, beg, borrow or steal?" Miss Hallman insisted. "These girls came from Wisconsin to take up claims, and I've promised to see that they get the best there is to be had. They are hustlers, if I know what the word means. I have a couple of claims in mind, that I want them to see--and that's why we three hung back till the rest were all arranged for. I had a rig promised that I was depending on, and at the last minute discovered it was not to be had. Some doctor from Havre came and got it for a trip into the hills. There's no use talking; we just must get out to the tract as soon as the others do--a little sooner wouldn't hurt. Couldn't you think of some way?"
"We'll try," Irish promised rashly, his eyes tying to meet Miss Allen's and succeeding admirably.
"What has become of Mr. Green?" Miss Hallman demanded after she had thanked Irish with a smile for the qualified encouragement.
"We don't know,," Weary answered mildly. "We were trying to locate him ourselves."
"Oh, were you? He seems a rather uncertain young man. I rather counted on his assistance; he promised--"
"Mr. Irish has thought of a rig he can use, Miss Hallman," said the Allen girl suddenly. "He's going to drive us out himself. Let's hurry and get ready, so we can start ahead of the others. How many minutes will it take you, Mr. Irish, to have that team here, for us?"
Irish turned red. He HAD thought of a rig, and he had thought of driving them himself, but he could not imagine how Miss Allen could possibly; have known his thoughts. Then and there he knew who would occupy the other half of the front seat, in case he did really drive the team he had in mind.
"I told you she's a hustler," laughed Miss Hallman. "She'll be raising bigger crops than you men--give her a year to get started. Well, girls, come on, then."
They turned abruptly away, and Irish was left to his accounting with the Happy Family. He had not denied the thoughts and intentions imputed to him by the twinkling-eyed Miss Allen. They walked on toward the livery stable--where was manifested an unwonted activity--waiting for Irish to clear himself; which he did not do.
"You going to drive them women out there?" Pink demanded after an impatient silence.
"Why not ? Somebody'll have to."
"What team are you going to use!" asked Jack Bates.
"Chip's" Irish did not glance around, but kept striding down the middle of the road with his hands stuck deep in his pockets.
"Don't you think you need help, amigo?" the Native Son insinuated craftily. "You can't talk to three girls at once;
I could be hired to go along and take one off your hands.
That should help some."
"Like hell you will!" Irish retorted with characteristic bluntness. Then he added cautiously, "Which one?"
"That old girl with the blue eyes should not be permitted to annoy the driver," drawled the Native Son. "Also, Florence Grace might want some intelligent person to talk to."
"Well, I got my opinion of any man that'll throw in with that bunch," Pink declared hotly. "Why don't you fellows keep your own side the fence. What if they are women farmers? They can do just as much harm--and a darn sight more. You make me sick."
"Let 'em go," Weary advised calmly. "They'll be a lot sicker when the ladies discover what they've helped do to that bench-land. Come on, boys--let's pull out, away from all these lunatics. I hate to see them get stung, but I don't see what we can do about it--only, if they come around asking me what I think of that land, I'm going to tell 'em."
"And then they'll ask you why you took claims up there, and you'll tell 'em that, too--will you?" The Native Son turned and smiled at him ironically.
That was it. They could not tell the truth without harming their own cause. They could not do anything except stand aside and see the thing through to whatever end fate might decree. They thought that Irish and the Native Son were foolish to take Chip's team and drive those women fifteen miles or so that they might seize upon land much better left alone; but that was the business of Irish and the Native Son, who did not ask for the approval of the Happy Family before doing anything they wanted to do.
The Happy Family saddled and rode back to the claims, gravely discussing the potentialities of the future. Since they rode slowly while they talked, they were presently overtaken by a swirl of dust, behind which came the matched browns which were the Flying U's crack driving team, bearing Irish and Miss Allen of the twinkling eyes upon the front seat of a two seated spring-wagon that had seen far better days than this.
Native Son helped to crowd the back seat uncomfortably, and waved a hand with reprehensible cheerfulness as they went rattling past.
The Happy Family stared after them with frowning disapproval, and Weary turned in the saddle and looked ruefully at his fellows.
"Things won't ever be the same around here," he predicted soberly. "There goes the beginning of the end of the Flying U, boys--and we ain't big enough to stop it."
