He was on the fourth division of the ranch now, the only one whereon the wheat had been successful, no doubt because of the Little Mission Creek that ran through it.

But he no longer occupied himself with the landscape.

His only concern was to get on as fast as possible.

He had looked forward to spending nearly the whole day on the crest of the wooded hills in the northern corner of the Quien Sabe ranch, reading, idling, smoking his pipe.

But now he would do well if he arrived there by the middle of the afternoon.