"Weary, if them dry-farmers come flockin' in on us while this bunch stands around callin' me a liar, I--" He did not attempt to finish the sentence; but Weary, staring curiously at Andy's profile, saw a quivering of the muscles around his lips and felt a responsive thrill of sympathy and belief that rose above his long training in caution.
Spite of past experience he believed, at that moment, every word which Andy Green had uttered upon the subject of the proposed immigration.

He was about to tell Andy so, when Chip walked unexpectedly out of Silver's stall and glanced from Weary to Andy standing still in the doorway.
Weary looked at him enquiringly; for Chip must have heard every word they said, and if Chip believed it-- "Have you got that plat with you, Andy ?" Chip asked tersely and with never a doubt in his tone.
Andy swung toward him like a prisoner who has just heard a jury return a verdict of not guilty to the judge.

"I've got it, yes," he answered simply, with only his voice betraying the emotions he felt--and his eye?
"Want it ?" "I'll take a look at it, if it's handy," said Chip.
Andy felt in his inside coat pocket, drew out a thin, folded map of that particular part of the county with all the government land marked upon it, and handed it to Chip without a word.

He singled out a couple of pamphlets from a bunch of old letters such as men are in the habit of carrying upon their persons, and gave them to Chip also.
"That's a copy of the homestead and desert laws," he said.

"I guess you heard me telling Weary what kinda deal we're up against, here.