of car-loads of pure-bred Hereford bulls and grade up that scrub stock;
in four or five years I'll have steers that will weigh eighteen hundred
to two thousand pounds on the hoof, instead of the little
eight-hundred-pounders that have swindled us for a hundred years."

"How many head of cattle can you run on your ranch?"

"About ten thousand--one to every ten acres. If I could develop water
for irrigation in the San Gregorio valley, I could raise alfalfa and
lot-feed a couple of thousand more."

"What is the ranch worth?"

"About eight per acre is the average price of good cattle-range nowadays.
With plenty of water for irrigation, the valley-land would be worth five
hundred dollars an acre. It's as rich as cream, and will grow
anything--with water."

"Well, I hope your dad takes a back seat and gives you a free hand,
Farrel. I think you'll make good with half a chance."

"I feel that way also," Farrel replied seriously.

"Are you going south to-night?"

"Oh, no. Indeed not! I don't want to go home in the dark, sir." The
captain was puzzled. "Because I love my California, and I haven't seen
her for two years," Farrel replied, to the other's unspoken query. "It's
been so foggy since we landed in San Francisco I've had a hard job making
my way round the Presidio. But if I take the eight-o'clock train