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 flockmasters. He would find their ranches scattered, along a creek, the waters of which they had appropriated to their own selfish uses by homesteading, buying or stealing, every mile of land fronting upon the stream. Clemmons was an uncharitable man when considering the prosperity of other men in relation to his own.

This bitter intolerance was so evident in all the old man's discussion of other people's affairs, except those no better off than himself, that Rawlins parted from him with a slight renewal of his overwhelmed hopes. Perhaps the dusty old fellow was incapable of granting that a prosperous man could be an honest one, a prejudice common to the self-defeated and the malcontents wherever they are found. Investigation might reveal conditions in Dry Wood far different from what the old flockmaster represented them. In addition, there might be some selfish design behind all this talk of oppression and fencing of public land.

Rawlins continued northward, following the fence, his object being further exploration and investigation. One of the big sheepmen would be a more reliable source of information than Clemmons, whose yearly trip down to Jasper, with perhaps a visit to Lost Cabin every six months to replenish his supplies, gave him all the contact he had with the affairs of men. There was not much in a life of that kind, Rawlins reflected, isolated in dusty servitude to sheep. Instead of being a flockmaster, as he proudly believed himself, Clemmons was mastered by his flock. That was not the sort of sheepman Rawlins designed to be.

As Lost Cabin had been his primary objective, he