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“Do you think Uncle Isaac up in heaven is sorry he made me heir of Kingthorpe, because of this with Bob?” “You must be a tenderfoot,” the other said pityingly. “It’s this way. My father raises cattle. For cattle, you need the range on which they feed and which has been free to all. About all the range there is around here is along the banks of the river. Now this irrigation business comes along and the Government won’t let anybody have more than 160 acres of land. Then my Dad has got to get rid of all his cattle and go to farmin’—which is pretty nigh as disgraceful for a cattleman as sheep-keeping. That is, of course, if he wants to stay around this part of the country.” Again the company scattered throughout the park. This was the time for the sack-racing and other contests in jumping, running, and singing. Father gave out the prizes, and then refreshments were served again..
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“Why?” Bob wanted to know. “I declare if there isn’t the Kingthorpe heir himself, hiring out as boatman!” came a voice from the wharf. “If I could be sure he wouldn’t do any more harm—” This time the answer was no—once was enough. So Bob, determined to get as much fun as possible out of his enforced stay at the Canyon, started out alone and joined the group of tourists in front of the hotel. They were already preparing to make the descent. He decided to walk rather than trust to one of the funny fat little mules which were provided for the visitors who were too stout or too lazy to use the means of locomotion given them by nature..
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