Strident laughter blew up on the wind from the cow camp of the Arizona
drovers in the Valley.

"Rough rascals," ejaculated Moyese fanning himself with his hat. "I
wish you wouldn't wander round too much alone when these drover fellows
are here from Arizona. Birds of passage, you know? Sheriff can't
pursue 'em into another State! When it's pay day, whiskey flows pretty
free--pretty free! Wish you wouldn't wander alone too much when
they're up this way."

"Mr. Senator, I move we come to business, and leave poetry and flowers
and palaver out of it--"

The Senator turned suavely and faced the impatient sheep-rancher.

"To be sure! Let us get down to business, MacDonald, by all means; but
before we go any farther, let me ask you a straight question! Clearing
the field before action, Miss Eleanor! Bat come over here and
entertain Miss Eleanor. Miss MacDonald, this is my man
Friday--Brydges, Miss MacDonald: it's Brydges, you know, sets us all
down fools to posterity by reporting our speeches for the newspapers."

Brydges winked as he got his limp collar back to his neck. It wasn't
his part to tell how many speeches came in reported before delivered;
how many were never delivered at all.

The Senator had stopped fanning himself. He was caressing his shaven
chin and taking the measure of the rancher; a tall man, straight and
lithe as a whip, lean and clean-limbed and swarthy.