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Rawhide country. Lost Trail. "A short-grass range, but rich," Lone Star had said "an honest-to-God country, bigger'n all creation." I turned to Mr. West and faced him squarely. "Has it got water?" He smiled at the sudden vehemence of the question and was ready for it. "Yes, it has water. The finest in the world."
But then the clean mouth opened in its frank smile, and her own dark lashes had to fall upon her cheeks until she turned away. At supper and afterwards Mr. Follett talked freely of himself, or seemed to. He was from the high plains and the short-grass country, wherever that might be to the east and south she gathered.
Through the last heavy fringe of bush and leafage they pursued him, and with a great crashing of branches came out upon the open, short-grass meadow. Still the man-creature stumbled on, straight out into the open, and still they followed, raging silently. The black herds of the Dinoceras stopped feeding all at once, and raised their vicious heads and stared.
They had not too far to go. At that time the short-grass country of the Platte Valley was the great center of the bison herds. The wallows lay in thousands, the white alkali showing in circles which almost touched edge to edge.
Some forty-odd miles away to the northeast, just beyond the horizon-lifting lesser range, lay the "short-grass" region in which he had spent the happy boyhood. An hour's gallop through the hills to the westward the level rays of the setting sun would be playing upon the little station of Painted Hat, the one-time shipping-point for the home ranch.
Who filled our busy streets each evenin' with throngs of happy-faced laborers pacin' home at night after four hours' pleasant work each day in our elegantly upholstered quartz mines? Was it you, Curly, who made these different and several pasears in progress? Was it you, Doc, you benighted stray from the short-grass Kansas plains, where they can't raise Kafir corn?
I don't see how people can live, huddled up with somebody on every quarter-section." "Where are you going now?" "Goin' to an honest-to-God range country," he said. "A short-grass country, but rich feed. You can get away from landgrabbers there. It's bigger'n all creation." "Where shall I send the paper?" "Wyoming. The Rawhide country. Just send the paper to Lost Trail. I'll be goin' on there.
"Give me the cattle from the short-grass country," said a salesman to a packer, as Wells Brothers' beeves were crossing the weighing scale. "You and I needn't worry about the question of range the buffalo knew. Catch the weights of these cattle and compare it with range beef from the sedge-grass and mountain country. Tallow tells its own story the buffalo knew the best range."
Same old rag-chewin' going on up at Cat Biggs's and the other waterin' troughs about how you've got to be done up, if it costs money." "That isn't new," objected Lidgerwood irritably. "Tumble-weeds," said Bradford, "rollin' round over the short-grass. But they show which way the wind's comin' from, and give you the jumps when you wouldn't have 'em natural.
"If I was a horse," he continued, speaking passionately while his black eyes burned with the spirit of rebellion, "I'd rather be a short-grass cay-use nippin' th' scatterin' feed on th' north hills an' be free to snort an' raise hell when I blamed please than have my belly stuffed with alfalfa hay three times a day an' have to gnaw th' iron of some damned man's bit in my mouth or carry his saddle on my back!"
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