Bat had sat down, still sleepily watchful through the tortoise-shell eyes, but a bit wilted in the heat.  Some of the men swinging corduroy and blue jean legs from the station platform evidently perpetrated a pleasantry; for there was a loud guffaw, and a shower of tobacco wads into the middle of the road.

“Know how we get high grade corn, high grade rose like this American Beauty:  in fact, high grade anything?  Well, I’ll tell you.  It’s the same process that brings out high grade men.  You go into a field of corn.  You pick out best specimens.  You keep that for seed, special care, special fine ground, special careful cultivation.  You let the others go, feed ’em to the hogs, understand, Bat?  It’s the same with the roses, and the same with men; and now where’s your fine theory of all men equal?”

As Bat did not care to remind the Senator that his own career from the ghetto up contradicted all this fine philosophy, he left the question unanswered.

Moyese pushed the glasses up on his nose and returned to the map.

“How many homesteaders did you succeed in nabbing out of that last train-load?”

“About a hundred, Senator!  I’ve got the list of ’em here . . . haven’t counted, but think it will tally up about a hundred.”

“What are they, Germans?”

“No, Swedes.”

Moyese laughed.  “Thrifty beggars will job round and earn double while they’re operating for us!  Got good big families, Bat?”

It was the turn of the handy man to laugh.  “I filed one fellow and eight kids for one hundred and sixty acres each.”

“You didn’t contract to pay each of the little olive branches three-hundred?”

“Lord, no!  If the dad sits tight till we prove up entry, he’s to get three-hundred!  No fear of his blabbing.  He can’t speak a word of English; and when I told the woman, through the interpreter that we pay their fare out and each of the kids would get a five, why, she kissed my hand and slobbered gratitude all over me.”

“Wayland won’t be quite so grateful for that bunch.”

“Oh, I didn’t file that batch in the N. F. You bet, that’s a little too obvious!  I put ’em in the Pass, lower end of the Pass, not by a damn sight, I didn’t put ’em in the N. F.!  I thought Smelter people wanted us to secure that Pass for a dam; and I bunched ’em all in just above the Sheriff’s place!”

“That’s good!  The Sheriff proves up this year; and if you get this bunch in behind, that corks the Pass up pretty effectually!  Where are the bounds of the Forest there?”

Bat drew his fore-finger along the map.  “Along the red line, here:  just to the trail through the canyon.”

“Good:  now what about the timber claim along the Gully?  That’s in the Forests, Brydges.  I want to force a contest on that; the Swede fellow has cut the logs under his permit; but I’d like to make that doubly sure before we go to trial.  If we can get a double cinch on that, we’ll knock the claim of the Forestry Department to keep homesteaders out into a cocked hat.”