"Well," laughed Bartley, "I took you for a cattleman the minute I saw
you."

"Which was a minute too late, eh?"

"I don't know about that. Since I've been sitting here looking at the
mesa and those wonderful buttes over there, and watching the natives
come and go, I have begun to feel that I don't care so much about that
train, after all. I like this sort of thing. You see, I planned to visit
California, but there was nothing definite about the plan. I chose
California because I had heard so much about it. It doesn't matter much
where I go. By the way, my name is Bartley."

"I'm Steve Brown--cattle and politics. I tell you, Mr. Bartley--"

"Suppose you say just Bartley?"

The Senator chuckled. "Suppose I said 'Green River'?"

"I haven't an objection in the world," laughed Bartley.

"Wishful, here, don't keep liquor," explained the Senator. "And he's
right about that. Folks that stay at this hotel want to sleep nights."

The Senator heaved himself out of his chair, stood up, and stretched.

"I reckon you'll be wantin' to see all you can of this country. My ranch
lays just fifty miles south of the railroad, and not a fence from here
to there. Then, there's them Indians, up north a piece. And over yonder
is where they dig up them prehistoric villages. And those buttes over