rams have tripled the wool and mutton production."

Quite by chance, on the way back, meeting Mendenhall, the horse
manager, they were deflected by him to a wide pasture, broken by
wooded canyons and studded with oaks, to look over a herd of yearling
Shires that was to be dispatched next morning to the upland pastures
and feeding sheds of the Miramar Hills. There were nearly two hundred
of them, rough-coated, beginning to shed, large-boned and large for
their age.

"We don't exactly crowd them," Dick Forrest explained, "but Mr.
Mendenhall sees to it that they never lack full nutrition from the
time they are foaled. Up there in the hills, where they are going,
they'll balance their grass with grain. This makes them assemble every
night at the feeding places and enables the feeders to keep track of
them with a minimum of effort. I've shipped fifty stallions, two-year-
olds, every year for the past five years, to Oregon alone. They're
sort of standardized, you know. The people up there know what they're
getting. They know my standard so well that they'll buy unsight and
unseen."

"You must cull a lot, then," Graham ventured.

"And you'll see the culls draying on the streets of San Francisco,"
Dick answered.

"Yes, and on the streets of Denver," Mr. Mendenhall amplified, "and of
Los Angeles, and--why, two years ago, in the horse-famine, we shipped
twenty carloads of four-year geldings to Chicago, that averaged
seventeen hundred each. The lightest were sixteen, and there were