I'm your nearest neighbor, you're running stock that are often out of sight, and you're up against a determined crowd." "It's true," George admitted.

"Still, I can't back out." Grant cast a keen, approving glance at him.

George sat quietly in his saddle with a smile on his brown face; his pose was easy but virile: there was a stamp of refinement and old country breeding upon him.

His eyes were suggestively steady; his skin was clear; he looked forceful in an unemphatic manner.

The farmer was to some extent prejudiced against the type, but he could make exceptions.