It was a pleasant little city, with some of the attractions of larger places.
Of these Charlie was thinking rather than of the wool.

He would attend to the wool business, of course, but it was an excuse instead of a reason for the projected visit on the morrow.
"Very well, it's time the wool is sold; the price is good at present," his father agreed.
Charlie recurred to the matter of the Stevenson ranch.
"What's this fellow's name who bought out Stevenson ?" "Lee Bryant.

A young man.

And I don't like him; I'm afraid he's a trouble-maker.

You should remember him, Charlie, for he's the fellow who filled the radiator of the car at the ford on Perro Creek and who threw your money back in your face." Young Menocal's thin figure stiffened, while his small black moustache rose in two points of ire.
"Him! That scoundrel who insulted me before Louise! That lamb-stealer!" he shrilled.
"That is the man," his father affirmed.
Charlie spat forth a string of Spanish curses.