a man with a round, freshly-colored countenance,
bland eyes, and a limp mustache, clad in leather
boots and a worn corduroy gunning coat. Gordon
nodded familiarly; it was the younger Entriken from
the valley beyond.

"I came to see you about my note," he announced
in a facile candor; "I sh'd take it up this month, but
times are terrible bad, Gordon, and I wondered if
you'd give me another extension? There's no real
reason why you sh'd wait again; I reckon I could
make her, but it would certainly be accommodating--"
he paused interrogatively.

"Well," Gordon hesitated, "I'm not in a hurry
for the note, if it comes to that. But the fact is
...I've got a lot of money laid out. What's been
the matter? -- the weather has been good, it's rained
regular--"

"That's just it," Entriken interrupted; "it's
rained too blamed regular. It is all right for crops,
but we've got nothing besides cattle, and steers
wouldn't hardly put on anything the past weeks.
Of course, in a way, grass is cattle, but it just seems
they wouldn't take any good in the wet."

"I suppose it will be all right," Gordon Makimmon
assented; "but I can hardly have the money
out so long... others too."

[[310]]

p309 _ -chap- _ toc-1 _ p310w _ toc-2 _ +chap+ _ p311

v?