Ross isn't straightened up yet. In a terrible state, poor old sinner."
"So you went out there and looked after the baby? That place isn't more than a mile from Simrall."
"Holbrook and his wife are exceptional young people, both from the agricultural college at Manhattan. He says—"
"Did you have your gun?" Major Cottrell interrupted sternly.
"No, sir; I haven't even got a gun."
"I wouldn't go over that way without one, and it would be better if somebody went along with you. You must not ignore, or even attempt to ignore, the gravity of your situation in this community, Dr. Hall."
"But I haven't got any feud with Simrall, Major."
"I know, I know. You're carrying my troubles, but you'll not do it an hour after I'm on my feet again. If Damascus is afraid to take the responsibility for that worthless Bud Sandiver I'm not. But don't go out there again without some preparations for defense. If nothing else, carry a shotgun—it's nearer the deserts of that pack of hounds than any other weapon, anyway."
"Thank you. Holbrook says this kafir stuff stands six weeks or so of drouth and flourishes on it. He's got a contract with a Kansas City seed house for all he can grow, came out here for that purpose, where the country's new, so his seed strain will be kept pure, he says. He's to get two dollars a bushel for his seed, he says."
"But what eats the stuff? where's the market?"
"Every kind of domestic animal and fowl thrives on it, Holbrook says. They grind it for stock. It's an old-country grain, centuries old, he says."
