"A-course, I ain't crazy about turning nester, myself--but
we've let things slide till we've got to come through or get
outa the game. It's a fact, boys, about them dry-farmers
coming in on us. That Minneapolis bunch that the blonde lady
works for is sending out a colony of farmers to take up this
land between here and the Bear Paws. The lady tipped her
hand, not knowing where I ranged and thinking I wouldn't be
interested in anything but her. She's a real nice lady, too,
and goodlooking--but a grafter to her last eye winker. And
she hit too close home to suit me, when she named the place
where they're going to dump their colony."

"Where does the graft come in?" inquired Pink cautiously.
"The farmers get the land, don't they?"

"Sure, they get the land. And they pungle up a good-sized fee
to Florence Grace Hallman and her outfit, for locating 'em.
Also there's side money in it, near as I can find out. They
skin the farmers somehow on the fare out here. That's their
business, according to the lady. They prowl around through
the government plats till they spot a few thousand acres of
land in a chunk; they take a look at it, maybe, and then they
boom it like hell, and get them eastern marks hooked--them
with money, the lady said. Then they ship a bunch out here,
locate 'em on the land and leave it up to THEM, whether they
scratch a living or not. She said they urge the rubes to
bring all the stock they can, because there's plenty of range
left. She says they play that up big. You can see for
yourself how that'll work out, around here!"