The Happy family, riding
that way, sometimes heard voices mingled in the shrill
singing of some hymn where, a year before, they had listened
to the hunting song of the coyote.
Eighty acres to the man--with that climate and that soil they
never could make it pay; with that soil especially since it
was mostly barren. The Happy Family knew it, and could find
it in their hearts to pity the men who were putting in
dollars and time and hard work there. But for obvious reasons
they did not put their pity into speech.
They fenced their west line in record time. There was only
one gate in the whole length of it, and that was on the trail
to Dry Lake. Not content with trusting to the warning of four
strands of barbed wire stretched so tight that they hummed to
the touch, they took turns in watching it--"riding fence," in
range parlance--and in watching the settlers' cattle.
To H. J. Owens and his fellow contestants they paid not the
slightest attention, because the Honorable Blake had urged
them personally to ignore any and all claimants. To Florence
Grace Hallman they gave no heed, believing that she had done
her worst, and that her worst was after all pretty weak,
since the contests she had caused to be filed could not
possibly be approved by the government so long as the Happy
Family continued to abide by every law and by-law and
condition and requirement in their present through-going and
exemplary manner.
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