CHAPTER X
"FEED MY SHEEP"
The slow, monotonous days of Summer crept listlessly by like dreamswhich, having neither beginning nor end, pass away into nothingness,leaving only a dim memory of restlessness and mystery.
In the relentless heat of noon-day the earth seemed to shimmer andswim in a radiance of its own; at evening the sun set in a gloryincomparable; and at dawn it returned to its own. Then in the longbreathless hours the cows sought out the scanty shadow of the canyonwall, sprawling uneasily in the sand; the lizards crept far back intothe crevices of the rocks; the birds lingered about the water holes,throttling their tongues, and all the world took on a silence that wasalmost akin to death. As the Summer rose to its climax a hot windbreathed in from the desert, clean and pure, but withering in itsintensity; the great bowlders, superheated in the glare of day,irradiated the stored-up energy of the sun by night until even therattlesnakes, their tough hides scorched through by the burning sands,sought out their winter dens to wait for a touch of frost. There wasonly one creature in all that heat-smitten land that defied the swayof the Sun-God and went his way unheeding--man, the indomitable, theconqueror of mountains and desert and sea.
When the sun was hottest, then was the best time to pursue the blackstallion of Bronco Mesa, chasing him by circuitous ways to the riverwhere he and his band could drink. But though more than one fine mareand suckling, heavy with water, fell victim, the black stallion,having thought and intelligence like a man, plunged through the water,leaving his thirst unquenched, refusing with a continency andsteadfastness rare even among men to sell his liberty at any price. Inthe round corral at Hidden Water there was roping and riding as Creedeand Hardy gentled their prizes; in the cool evenings they rode forthalong the Alamo, counting the cows as they came down to water ordoctoring any that were sick; and at night they lay on their cotsbeneath the _ramada_ telling long stories till they fell asleep.
At intervals of a month or more Hardy rode down to Moroni andeach time he brought back some book of poems, or a novel, or abundle of magazines; but if he received any letters he nevermentioned it. Sometimes he read in the shade, his face sobered to ascholarly repose, and when the mood came and he was alone hewrote verses--crude, feverish, unfinished--and destroyed them,furtively.
He bore his full share of the rough work, whether riding orhorse-breaking or building brush corrals, but while he responded toevery mood of his changeable companion he hid the whirl of emotionwhich possessed him, guarding the secret of his heart even whenwriting to Lucy Ware; and slowly, as the months crept by, the woundhealed over and left him whole.
At last the days grew shorter, the chill came back into the morningair, and the great thunder-caps which all Summer had mantled thePeaks, scattering precarious and insufficient showers across theparching lowlands, faded away before the fresh breeze from the coast.Autumn had come, and, though the feed was scant, Creede started hisround-up early, to finish ahead of the sheep. Out on The Rolls thewild and runty cows were hiding their newborn calves; the spring twoswere grown to the raw-boned dignity of steers; and all must begathered quickly, before the dust arose in the north and the sheepmowed down the summer grass. Once more from their distant ranches themountain men trailed in behind their horses; the _rodeo_ hands droppedin from nowhere, mysteriously, talking loudly of high adventures butwith the indisputable marks of Mormon hay-forks on their thumbs.
Before their restless energy The Rolls were swept bare of marketstock, and the upper end of the mesa as well, before the first sheepdust showed against the hills. The _rodeo_ outfit left Carrizo andcame down to Hidden Water, driving their herd before them, and stillno sheep appeared. So long had they strained their eyes for nothingthat the cowmen from the north became uneasy, dropping out one by oneto return to their ranches for fear that the sheep had crept in andlaid waste their pastures and corrals. Yet the round-up ended withouta band in sight, where before The Rolls had been ploughed intochannels by their multitude of feet.
In a slow fever of apprehension Hardy rode ceaselessly along the rimof Bronco Mesa, without finding so much as a track. Throughout thatlong month of watching and waiting the memory of his conversation withJim Swope had haunted him, and with a sinister boding of impendingevil he had ridden far afield, even to the lower crossing at PabloMoreno's, where a few Mexicans and Basques were fording the shallowriver. Not one of those veiled threats and intimations had he confidedto Creede, for the orders from Judge Ware had been for peace and Jeffwas hot-headed and hasty; but in his own mind Hardy pictured a solidphalanx of sheep, led by Jasp Swope and his gun-fighting Chihuahuanos,drifting relentlessly in over the unravaged mesa. Even that he couldendure, trusting to some appeal or protest to save him from theultimate disaster, but the strain of this ominous waiting was morethan Hardy's nerves could stand.
As the town herd was put on the long trail for Bender and the round-uphands began to spit dry for their first drink, the premonition of evilconquered him and he beckoned Creede back out of the rout.
"I've got a hunch," he said, "that these sheepmen are hanging backuntil you boys are gone, in order to raid the upper range. I don't_know_ anything, you understand, but I'm looking for trouble. How doesit look to you?"
"Well," answered Creede sombrely, "I don't mind tellin' you that thisis a new one on me. It's the first fall gather that I can rememberwhen I didn't have a round-up with a sheepman or two. They're willin'enough to give us the go-by in the Spring, when there's grasseverywhere, but when they come back over The Rolls in the Fall and seewhat they've done to the feed--well, it's like fightin' crows out of awatermelon patch to protect that upper range.
"The only thing I can think of is they may be held back by this dryweather. But, I tell you, Rufe," he added, "it's jest as well I'mgoin'--one man can tell 'em to he'p themselves as good as two, and Imight get excited. You know your orders--and I reckon the sheepmen do,too, 's fer 's that goes. They're not so slow, if they do git lousy.But my God, boy, it hurts my feelin's to think of you all alone uphere, tryin' to appeal to Jasp Swope's better nature." He twisted hislips, and shrugged his huge shoulders contemptuously. Then withoutenthusiasm he said: "Well, good luck," and rode away after hiscattle.
Creede's scorn for this new policy of peace had never been hidden,although even in his worst cursing spells he had never quite named theboss. But those same orders, if they ever became known, would call inthe rapacious sheepmen like vultures to a feast, and the bones of hiscattle--that last sorry remnant of his father's herds--would bleach onBronco Mesa with the rest, a mute tribute to the triumph of sheep.
All that day Hardy rode up the Alamo until he stood upon the summit ofthe Juate and looked over the divide to the north, and still therewere no sheep. Not a smoke, not a dust streak, although the chill ofAutumn was in the air. In the distant Sierra Blancas the snow wasalready on the peaks and the frosts lay heavy upon the black mesa ofthe Mogollons. Where then could the sheep be, the tender, gentlynurtured sheep, which could stand neither heat in Summer nor cold inWinter, but must always travel, travel, feeding upon the freshest ofgreen grass and leaving a desert in their wake? The slow-wittedMexicans and Basques, who did not follow the lead of the Swopes, hadreturned on their fall migration with the regularity of animals, butall those cheery herders for whom he had cooked and slaved--Bazan,McDonald, the Swopes and their kin, who used the upper ford--were lostas if the earth had swallowed them up.
The stars were shining when Hardy came in sight of the ranch at theend of that unprofitable day, and he was tired. The low roof of thehouse rose up gloomily before him, but while he was riding in a houndsuddenly raised his challenge in the darkness. Instantly his yell wasanswered by a chorus, and as Chapuli swerved from the rush of the packthe door was thrown open and the tall, gaunt form of Bill Johnsonstood outlined against the light.
"Yea, Ribs; hey, Rock; down, Ring!" he hollered. "Hey, boys; hey,Suke!" And in a mighty chorus of bayings the long-eared hounds circledabout and returned to the feet of their master, wagging their tai
lsbut not abating their barking one whit. Standing bareheaded in thedoorway with his hair and beard bushed out like a lion's mane Johnsonstrove by kicks and curses to quiet their uproar, shouting again andagain some words which Hardy could not catch.
At last, grabbing old Suke, the leader of the pack, by an ear, heslapped her until her yelpings silenced the rest; then, stepping outinto the opening, he exclaimed:
"My God, Hardy, is that you?"
"Sure," replied Hardy impatiently. "Why, what's the matter?"
"Sheep!" shouted Johnson, throwing out his hands wildly, "thousands of'em, millions of 'em!"
"Sheep--where?" demanded Hardy. "Where are they?"
"They're on your upper range, boy, and more comin'!"
"What?" cried Hardy incredulously. "Why, how did they get up there? Ijust rode the whole rim to-day!"
"They come over the top of the Four Peaks," shouted the old man,shaking with excitement. "Yes, sir, over the top of the Four Peaks! Myhounds took after a lion last night, and this mornin' I trailed 'emclean over into the middle fork where they had 'im treed. He jumpeddown and run when I come up and jist as we was hotfoot after him werun spang into three thousand head of sheep, drifting down from thepass, and six greasers and a white man in the rear with carbeens. Thewhole dam' outfit is comin' in on us. But we can turn 'em yet! Whar'sJeff and the boys?"
"They've gone to town with the cattle."
"Well, you're dished then," said the old man grimly. "Might as wellput up your horse and eat--I'm goin' home and see that they don't noneof 'em git in on me!"
"Whose sheep were they?" inquired Hardy, as he sat down to a hastymeal.
"Don't ask me, boy," replied Johnson. "I never had time to find out.One of them Mexicans took a shot at Rye and I pulled my gun on him,and then the boss herder he jumped in, and there we had it, back andforth. He claimed I was tryin' to stompede his sheep, but I _knowed_his greaser had tried to shoot my dog, and I told him so! And I toldhim furthermore that the first sheep or sheepman that p'inted his headdown the Pocket trail would stop lead; and every one tharafter, aslong as I could draw a bead. And by Gawd, I mean it!" He struck hisgnarled fist upon the table till every tin plate jumped, and his fieryeyes burned savagely as he paced about the room.
At first peep of dawn Bill Johnson was in the saddle, his long-barrelledrevolver thrust pugnaciously into his boot, his 30-30 carbine across hisarm, and his hounds slouching dutifully along in the rear. Closebehind followed Hardy, bound for the Peaks, but though the morning wascold he had stripped off his coat and shaps, and everything whichmight conceal a weapon, leaving even his polished Colt's in hisblankets. If the sheep were to be turned now it could never be byarms. The sheepmen had stolen a march, Creede and his cowboys were faraway, and his only hope was the olive branch of peace. Yet as hespurred up the Carrizo trail he felt helpless and abused, like atried soldier who is sent out unarmed by a humanitarian commander. Onlyone weapon was left to him--the one which even Jim Swope hadnoticed--his head; and as he worked along up the hogback which led downfrom the shoulder of the Four Peaks he schooled himself to a Spartanpatience and fortitude.
At last from a high cliff which overshadowed the broad canyon of themiddle fork, he looked down and saw the sheep, like a huge,dirty-brown blot, pouring in a hundred diverging lines down the valleyand feeding as they came. Higher and higher up the sides the old ewesfought their way, plucking at the long spears of grass which grewamong the rocks; and the advance guard, hurrying forward, nippedeagerly at the browse and foliage as they passed, until, at last, sometempting bush detained them too long and they were swallowed up inthe ruck. Little paths appeared in the leaders' wake, winding in andout among the bowlders; and like soldiers the sheep fell into line,moving forward with the orderly precision of an army. A herder withhis dogs trailed nonchalantly along the flank, the sun glinting fromhis carbine as he clambered over rocks, and in the rear another silentshepherd followed up the drag. So far it was a peaceful pastoralscene, but behind the herd where the camp rustler and his burrosshould have been there was a posse of men, and each man carried agun.
Hardly had Chapuli mounted the ridge before every head was raised; theswarthy Mexicans unslung their guns with a flourish, and held them ata ready. Yet for half an hour the lone horseman sat there like astatue, and if he resented their coming or saw the dust of other bandsbehind, he made no sign. Even when the guard of men passed beneathhim, craning their necks uneasily, he still remained silent andimmobile, like a man who has councils of his own or leads a forcebehind.
The leader of the vanguard of the sheep was a white man, and notunversed in the principles of war, for after trailing safely throughthe box of the canyon--where a single rock displaced would kill a scoreof sheep, and where the lone horseman had he so willed could havepotted half of the invaders from the heights--he turned his herd up aside canyon to the west and hastily pitched his camp on a ridge. As theheat of the day came on, the other bands up the canyon stopped also,and when the faint smoke showed Hardy that the camp rustlers werecooking dinner, he turned and rode for the leader's camp.
Dinner was already served--beans, fried mutton, and bread, spread upona greasy canvas--and the hungry herders were shovelling it down withknives in their own primitive way when Hardy rode up the slope. As hecame into camp the Chihuahuanos dropped their plates, reached fortheir guns, and stood in awkward postures of defence, some waggingtheir big heads in a braggartly defiance, others, their couragewaning, grinning in the natural shame of the peasant. In Hardy theyrecognized a gentleman of _categoria_--and he never so much as glancedat them as he reined in his spirited horse. His eyes were fixed uponthe lone white man, their commander, who stood by the fire regardinghim with cold suspicion, and to whom he bowed distantly.
"Good-morning," he said, by way of introduction, and the sheepmanblinked his eyes in reply.
"Whose sheep are those?" continued Hardy, coming to the point withmasterful directness, and once more the boss sheepman surveyed himwith suspicion.
"Put up them guns, you gawky fools! This man ain't goingto eat ye!"]
"Mine," he said, and Hardy returned his stare with a glance which,while decorously veiled, indicated that he knew he lied. The man was astranger to him, rather tall and slender, with drawn lips and an eyethat never wavered. His voice was tense with excitement and he kepthis right thumb hooked carelessly into the corner of his pocket, notfar from the grip of a revolver. As soon as he spoke Hardy knew him.
"You are Mr. Thomas, aren't you?" he inquired, as if he had no thoughtof trouble. "I believe I met you once, down in Moroni."
"Ump!" grunted Mr. Thomas unsociably, and at that moment one of theMexicans, out of awkwardness, dropped his gun. As he stooped to pickit up a slow smile crept over the cowman's lips, a smile whichexpressed polite amusement along with a measured contempt--and theboss herder was stung with a nameless shame at the false play.
"Put up them guns, you dam' gawky fools!" he yelled in a frenzy ofrage. "Put 'em up, I say. This man ain't goin' to eat ye!" And thoughthe poor browbeaten Chihuahuanos understood not a word of English theyfelt somehow that they had been overzealous and shuffled back to theirblankets, like watchdogs that had been rebuked.
"Now," said the sheepman, taking his hand from his gun, "what can I dofor you, Mr. Hardy?"
"Well," responded Hardy, "of course there are several things you_might_ do to accommodate me, but maybe you wouldn't mind telling mehow you got in here, just for instance?"
"Always glad to 'commodate--where I can, of course," returned thesheepman grimly. "I came in over the top of them Four Peaks yonder."
"Um," said Hardy, glancing up at the rocky walls. "Then you must'vehad hooks on your eyebrows, for sure. I suppose the rest of the familyis coming, too! And, by the way, how is my friend, Mr. Swope?"
He appended this last with an artless smile, quite lacking inbitterness, but somehow the boss herder felt himself discredited bythe inquiry, as if he were consorting with thieves. It was the oldshame of the sheepman, the sha
me which comes to the social outcast,and burns upon the cheek of the dishonored bastard, but which isseared deepest into the heart of the friendless herder, theIshmaelite of the cow-country, whose hand is against every man andevery man's against him. Hunger and thirst he can endure, and theweariness of life, but to have all men turn away from him, toanswer him grudgingly, to feed him at their table, but refusethemselves to eat, this it is which turns his heart to bitternessand makes him a man to be feared. As Thomas had looked at this trimyoung cowboy, smooth-shaven and erect, sitting astride a bloodedhorse which snorted and pawed the ground delicately, and then hadglanced at the low and brutal Mexicans with whom his lot was cast, ablind fury had swept over him, wreaking its force upon his ownretainers; and now, when by implication he was classed with Jim Swope,he resented it still more bitterly.
"Dam'fino," he answered sullenly. "Haven't seen 'im for a month."
"Oh, isn't he with you this trip?" asked Hardy, in surprise. "I hadhoped that I might find him up here." There was a suggestion of ironyin his words which was not lost upon the _mayordomo_, but Thomas letthe remark pass in silence.
"Perhaps his brother Jasper is along," ventured Hardy. "No? Well,that's Jim's earmark on those sheep, and I know it. What's thematter?"
"Matter with what?" growled Thomas morosely.
"Why, with Jim, of course. I thought after the pleasant times we hadtogether last Spring he'd be sure to come around. In fact," he addedmeaningly, "I've been looking for him."
At this naive statement, the sheepman could not restrain a smile.
"You don't know Jim as well as I do," he said, and there was asuggestion of bitterness in his voice which Hardy was not slow tonote.
"Well, perhaps not," he allowed; "but you know, and I know, that thisis no pleasure trip you're on--in fact, it's dangerous, and I neverthought that Jim Swope would send a man where he was afraid to gohimself. Now I've got nothing against you, Mr. Thomas, and of courseyou're working for him; but I ask you, as a man, don't you think,after what I've done for him, that Jim Swope ought to come alonghimself if he wants to sheep me out?
"I've fed him, and I've fed all his herders and all his friends; I'vegrained his horses when they were ga'nted down to a shadow because hisown sheep had cleaned up the feed; I've made him welcome to my houseand done everything I could for him; and all I asked in return wasthat he would respect this upper range. He knows very well that if hissheep go through here this Fall our cattle will die in the Winter, andhe knows that there is plenty of feed out on The Rolls where our cowscan't go, and yet he sends you in where he's scared to go himself,just to hog our last piece of good feed and to put us out of business.I asked him down in Moroni if he thought a cowman had a right to live,and he dodged the question as if he was afraid he'd say something."
He stopped abruptly and looked out over the country toward HiddenWater, while the Mexicans watched him furtively from beneath theirslouched hats.
"Expecting some friends?" inquired Thomas, with a saturnine grin.
Hardy shook his head. "No. I came out here alone, and I left my gun incamp. I haven't got a friend within forty miles, if that's what youmean. I suppose you've got your orders, Mr. Thomas, but I just want totalk this matter over with you."
"All right," said the sheepman, suddenly thawing out at the good news."I don't have so much company as to make me refuse, even if it is awarm subject. But mebby you'd like a bite to eat before we git down tobusiness?" He waved a deprecating hand at the greasy canvas, and Hardyswung quickly down from his saddle.
"Thanks. But don't let me keep you from your dinner. Here's where Ibreak even with Jim Swope for all that grub I cooked last Spring," heremarked, as he filled his plate. "But if it was him that asked me,"he added, "I'd starve to death before I'd eat it."
He sat on his heels by the canvas, with the boss sheepman on the otherside, and the Mexicans who had been so cocky took their plates andretired like Apaches to the edge of the brush, where they would notobtrude upon their betters.
"They say it's bad for the digestion," observed Hardy, after the firstsilence, "to talk about things that make you mad; so if you don'tmind, Mr. Thomas, we'll forget about Jim Swope. What kind of a countryis it up there in Apache County, where you keep your sheep allSummer?"
"A fine country," rejoined Thomas, "and I wish to God I was back toit," he added.
"Why, what's the matter with this country? It looks pretty good tome."
"Ye-es," admitted the sheepman grudgingly, "it looks good enough,but--well, I lived up there a long time and I got to like it. I hadone of the nicest little ranches in the White Mountains; there wasgood huntin' and fishin' and--well, I felt like a white man upthere--never had no trouble, you understand--and I was makin' goodmoney, too."
His voice, which before had been harsh and strident, softened down ashe dwelt upon the natural beauty of the mountains which had been hishome, but there was a tone of sadness in his talk which told Hardythat ultimately he had suffered some great misfortune there. Hisoccupation alone suggested that--for there are few white men workingas sheep-herders who lack a hard luck story, if any one will listen toit. But this Shep Thomas was still young and unbroken, with none ofthe black marks of dissipation upon his face, and his eyes were askeen and steady as any hunter's. He was indeed the very type offighter that Swope had sought, hardy and fearless, and at the sametime careful. As they sat together Hardy looked him over and was gladthat he had come out unarmed, yet though his host seemed a man of justand reasonable mind there was a set, dogged look in his eyes whichwarned the cowman not to interfere, but let him talk his fill. And theboss herder, poor lonely man, was carried away in spite of himself bythe temptation of a listener; after many days of strife and turmoil,cutting trails, standing off cowmen, cursing Mexicans, at last to meeta white man who would just sit silent and let him talk! His storieswere of hunting and fishing, of prospecting, and restless adventuresamong the Indians, and every time the conversation worked aroundtowards sheep he led it resolutely away. And for his part, never for amoment did Hardy try to crowd him, but let the talk lead where itwould, until of his own volition the sheepman told his story.
"I suppose you wonder what I'm doing down here," he said at last, "ifI was so stuck on the Concho country? Well, I bet you wouldn't guessin a thousand years--and you ought to be a pretty good guesser, too,"he added, with a gruff laugh. "Now, what do you think it was that putme on the bum?"
"Poker game?" queried Hardy politely.
"Nope," replied the sheepman, showing his teeth, "I'm winners onpoker."
"You don't look like a drinking man."
"Naw--nor it wasn't women, either. It's something unusual, I tell you.I stood and looked at it for ten years, and never turned a hair. Buthere, I've been holdin' out on you a little--I never told you what itwas I raised on my ranch. Well, it was sheep."
"Sheep?" echoed Hardy, "did you keep 'em there all Winter?"
"W'y sure, man. There's lots of sheep in Apache County that was neverten miles from home."
"Then why does Jim Swope bring his bands south every Fall? I hear heloses five per cent of them, at the least, coming and going."
"Ah, you don't understand Jim as well as I do. I was tryin' to make alivin'; he's tryin' to git rich. He's doin' it, too."
Once more the note of bitterness came into his voice, and Hardy sawthat the time had come.
"How's that?" he inquired quietly, and the sheepman plunged into hisstory.
"Well, it was this way. I kept a few thousand sheep up there in myvalley. In the Summer we went up the mountain, followin' the grass,and in the Winter we fed down below, where the ground was bare. Itnever got very cold, and my sheep was used to it, anyhow. The Navajosdon't move their sheep south, do they? Well, they're away north ofwhere I was. We jest give 'em a little shelter, and looked after 'em,and, as I says, I was doin' fine--up to last year."
He paused again, with his secret on his lips, and once more Hardysupplied the helping word.
"And what happened then?"
he asked.
"What happened then?" cried Thomas, his eyes burning. "Well, _you_ought to know--I was sheeped out."
"Sheeped out? Why, how could that happen? You were a sheepmanyourself!"
The boss herder contemplated him with an amused and cynical smile."You ask Jim Swope," he suggested.
For a minute Hardy sat staring at him, bewildered. "Well," he said,"_I_ can't figure it out--maybe you wouldn't mind telling me how ithappened."
"Why hell, man," burst out the sheepman, "it's as plain as the nose onyour face--I didn't belong to the Association. All these big sheepmenthat drive north and south belong to the Sheepmen's ProtectiveAssociation, and they stand in with each other, but we little fellowsup in 'Pache County was nobody. It's about ten years ago now that theSwope outfit first came in through our country; and, bein' in thesheep business ourselves, we was always friendly, and never made notrouble, and naturally supposed that they'd respect our range. And sothey did, until I found one of Jim's herders in on my ranch lastSummer.
"Well, I thought there was some misunderstandin', but when I told himand his _compadres_ to move it was a bad case of 'No savvy' from thestart; and while I was monkeyin' around with them a couple of morebands sneaked in behind, and first thing I knew my whole lower rangewas skinned clean. Well, sir, I worked over one of them _paisanos_until he was a total wreck, and I took a shot at another _hombre_,too--the one that couldn't savvy; but there was no use cavin' roundabout it--I was jest naturally sheeped out.
"It looked like I was busted, but I wouldn't admit it, and while I wasstudyin' on the matter along comes Jim himself and offers me fivethousand dollars for my sheep. They was worth ten if they was worth acent, all fine and fat; but my winter feed was gone and of course Iwas up against it. I see somethin' would have to be done, and dam'quick, too; so I chased down to St. John and tried to git a higherbid. But these sheepmen stand in with each other on a proposition likethat, and I couldn't git nawthin'.
"'All right,' I says to Jim, 'take 'em, and be dam'ed to you.'
"'The price has gone down,' says Jim. 'I'll give you four thousand.'
"'_What!_' I says.
"'Three thousand,' says Jim.
"'You'll give me _five_ thousand,' says I, crowdin' my gun against hisshort ribs, 'or I'll let the light in on you,' and after that Jim andme understood each other perfectly. In fact, we got stuck on eachother. Yes, sir, after I got over bein' excited and could listen toreason, he put it to me straight--and he was right.
"'What's the use of bein' the yaller dog?' he says. 'You can't buckthe whole Association. But we've got room for you,' he says, 'so giton and ride.' And here I am, by Joe, leadin' the procession."
The sheepman paused and gazed at the band of sheep as they stood in asolid mass, their heads tucked under each other's bellies to escapethe sun.
"Some of them sheep used to be mine," he observed, and laughed slyly."That's the only thing between me and the boss. He's begged andimplored, and cursed and said his prayers, tryin' to git me interestedin the sheep business again; but like the pore, dam' fool I am I keepthat five thousand dollars in the bank." His shoulders heaved for amoment with silent laughter, and then his face turned grave.
"Well, Mr. Hardy," he said, "business is business, and I've got to bemovin' along pretty soon. I believe you said you'd like to talkmatters over for a minute."
"Yes," answered Hardy promptly, "I'd like to make arrangements to haveyou turn out through that pass yonder and leave us a little feed fornext Winter."
The sheepman cocked his head to one side and shut one eye knowingly.
"Oh, you would, would you? And what word shall I take back to theboss, then?"
"I expect I'll see him before you do," said Hardy, "but if you getahead of me you can just say that I asked you to move, and so youfollowed out your orders."
"Yes," responded Thomas, smiling satirically, "that'd be lovely. Buthow long since I've been takin' orders off of you?"
"Oh, I'm not trying to give you any orders," protested Hardy. "Thosecome straight from Jim Swope."
"How's that?" inquired the sheepman, with sudden interest.
"Why, don't you remember what he said when he introduced me to you,down in Moroni? 'This is Mr. Hardy,' he said, 'a white cowman. If youhave to go across his range, go quick, and tell your men the same.'You may have forgotten, but it made a great impression on me. Andthen, to show there was no mistake about it, he told me if I found anyof his sheep on my range to order them off, and you would see thatthey went. Isn't that straight?"
He leaned over and looked the sheepman in the eye but Thomas met hisglance with a sardonic smile. "Sure, it's right. But I've receivedother orders since then. You know Jim claims to be religious--he's oneof the elders in the church down there--and he likes to keep his wordgood. After you was gone he come around to me and said: 'That's allright, Shep, about what I said to that cowman, but there's one thing Iwant you always to remember--feed my sheep!' Well, them's my orders."
"Well," commented Hardy, "that may be good Scripture, but what aboutmy cows? There's plenty of feed out on The Rolls for Jim's sheep, butmy cows have got to drink. We cowmen have been sheeped out of all thelower country down there, and here we are, crowded clear up againstthe rocks. You've stolen a march on us and of course you're entitledto some feed, but give us a chance. You've been sheeped out yourself,and you know what it feels like. Now all I ask of you is that you turnout through this pass and go down onto The Rolls. If you'll do that Ican turn all the rest of the sheep and keep my cows from starving, butif you go through me they'll all go through me, and I'm done for. Idon't make any threats and I can't offer any inducements, but I justask you, as a white man, to go around."
As he ended his appeal he stood with his hands thrown out, and thesheepman looked at him, smiling curiously.
"Well," he said, at last, "you're a new kind of cowman on me, pardner,but I'll go you, if Jim throws a fit."
He advanced, and held out his hand, and Hardy took it.
"If all sheepmen were like you," he said, "life would be worth livingin these parts." And so, in a friendship unparalleled in the historyof the Four Peaks country, a sheepman and a cowman parted inamity--and the sheep went around.