"Wal, Miss Majesty, it jest makes my old heart warm up to think
of sich a thing. I dreamed a lot when I first come hyar. What
would I do if I hed unlimited money? Listen. I'd buy out Don
Carlos an' the Greasers. I'd give a job to every good cowman in
this country. I'd make them prosper as I prospered myself. I'd
buy all the good horses on the ranges. I'd fence twenty thousand
acres of the best grazin'. I'd drill fer water in the valley.
I'd pipe water down from the mountains. I'd dam up that draw out
there. A mile-long dam from hill to hill would give me a big
lake, an' hevin' an eye fer beauty, I'd plant cottonwoods around
it. I'd fill that lake full of fish. I'd put in the biggest
field of alfalfa in the South-west. I'd plant fruit-trees an'
garden. I'd tear down them old corrals an' barns an' bunk-houses
to build new ones. I'd make this old rancho some comfortable an'
fine. I'd put in grass an' flowers all around an' bring young
pine-trees down from the mountains. An' when all thet was done
I'd sit in my chair an' smoke an' watch the cattle stringin' in
fer water an' stragglin' back into the valley. An' I see the
cowboys ridin' easy an' heah them singin' in their bunks. An'
thet red sun out there wouldn't set on a happier man in the world
than Bill Stillwell, last of the old cattlemen."

Madeline thanked the rancher, and then rather abruptly retired to
her room, where she felt no restraint to hide the force of that
wonderful idea, now full-grown and tenacious and alluring.

Upon the next day, late in the afternoon, she asked Alfred if it
would be safe for her to ride out to the mesa.

"I'll go with you," he said, gaily.