Two glittering lines of steel that came from out of the obscurity of distance eastward skirted Okar's buildings and passed westward into an obscurity equally distant.
The country around Okar was devoted to cattle.

Sanderson's practiced eye told him that.

The rich grassland that spread from Okar's confines was the force that had brought the town into being, and the railroad would make Okar permanent.
Okar did not look permanent, however.

It was of the type of the average cow-town of the western plains--artificial and crude.

Its buildings were of frame, hurriedly knocked together, representing the haste of a people in whom the pioneer instinct was strong and compelling--who cared nothing for appearances, but who fought mightily for wealth and progress.
Upon Okar was the stamp of newness, and in its atmosphere was the eagerness and the fervor of commercialism.