thousand tons? Not enough. Don't care if I do,"--helping himself to
another piece of beef.

"I think you'll find two thousand tons, good hay and good measurement,"
said Transley.

"I'm sure of it," rejoined his host, generously. "I'm carryin' more
steers than usual, and'll maybe run in a bunch of doggies from Manitoba
to boot. I got to have more hay."

So the meal progressed, the rancher furnishing both the hospitality and
the conversation. Transley occasionally broke in to give assent to
some remark, but his interruption was quite unnecessary. It was Y.D.'s
practice to take assent for granted. Once or twice the women interjected
a lead to a different subject of conversation in which their words would
have carried greater authority, but Y.D. instantly swung it back to the
all-absorbing topic of hay.

The Chinese boy served a pudding of some sort, and presently the meal
was ended.

"She's been a dry summer--powerful dry," said the rancher, with a wink
at his guests. "Zen, I think there's a bit of gopher poison in there
yet, ain't there?"

The girl left the room without remark, returning shortly with a jug and
glasses, which she placed before her father.

"I suppose you wear a man's size, Transley," he said, pouring out a big
drink of brown liquor, despite Transley's deprecating hand. "Linder, how