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Updated: June 24, 2025
"That's right," he said, sinking down at her side, and as he settled back against the tree his eyes closed instantly, like a child whose bedtime has come. "I'm I'm so dead tired I can't talk straight, Lucy to say nothing of think. But I'll take care of you. We aren't sheeped out yet. Only only I can't I forget what I'm going to say."
He's dead set on usin' this sheep an' cattle feud to ruin my family an' me, even as I ruined him. But he means more, Jean. This will be a war between Texans, an' a bloody war. There are bad men in this Tonto some of the worst that didn't get shot in Texas. Jorth will have some of these fellows.... Now, are we goin' to wait to be sheeped off our range an' to be murdered from ambush?"
The sheepmen are hiding along the river waiting for a chance to sneak across, and if I should stay in camp for a single day they might make a break and then we would have a war. Your father doesn't understand that, but I do; and I know that Jeff will never submit to being sheeped out without a fight. Can't you see how it is?
"Yes, an' them northeast winds hard this spring," said another. "No snow on the uplands." "Holley seen a dry spell comin'. Wal, we can drift along without freighters. There's grass an' water enough here, even if it doesn't rain." "Sure, but there ain't none across the river." "Never was, in early season. An' if there was it'd be sheeped off."
But he never looked old.... So he's rich now an' losin' stock, an' goin' to be sheeped off his range. Dad could stand a lot of rustlin', but not much from sheepmen." The softness that stirred in Jean merged into a cold, thoughtful earnestness which had followed every perusal of his father's letter. A dark, full current seemed flowing in his veins, and at times he felt it swell and heat.
"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 sheepman yourself!" 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.
Nor was there any new thing in hospitality. The last bacon and bread had been set upon the table; baled hay and grain, hauled in by day's works from the alfalfa fields of Moroni and the Salagua, had been fed to the famished horses of the very men who had sheeped off the grass; the same blanket had been shared, sometimes, alas, with men who were "crumby."
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