That the creek
came from the hills to the south, and from the mountains beyond them.
When one crossed the brown hills he came to the Half Moon country and
into a land of many wide-reaching cattle-ranges.
"I saw a team drive out that way after the train came in," said
Conniston, carelessly. "Headed for one of the cattle-ranges, I
suppose?"
The old man spat and nodded, wiping his scanty gray beard with his
hand.
"That was Joe from the Half Moon. Took the ol' man's girl out."
"I did see a young lady with him. She lives out there?"
"Uh-uh." The old man got up to wait upon a customer, a cowboy, from the
loose, shaggy black "chaps," the knotted neck handkerchief, the
clanking spurs and heavy, black-handled Colt revolver at his hip. He
bought large quantities of smoking-tobacco and brown cigarette-papers,
"swapped the news" with the storekeeper, and clanked his way across to
the saloon. He did not appear to have seen Conniston.
"The girl's father run a cattle-range out there?"
"Uh-uh. The Half Moon an' three or four smaller ranges. He's old man
Crawford--p'r'aps you've heard on him?"
Conniston shook his head, suppressing a smile.
"I don't think I have. Far out to his place?"
"Oh, it ain't bad. Let's see. It's fifty mile to the hills, an' he's
about forty mile fu'ther on." He stopped for a brief mental
calculation.
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