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Updated: May 9, 2025
The sheepman immediately fell back. "I reckon this trail isn't wide enough for two unless y'u take the outside," he explained quietly. The outlaw, who had been drinking steadily ever since leaving the Lazy D, laughed his low, sinister cackle. "Afraid of me, are y'u? Afraid I'll push y'u off?" "Not when I'm inside and you don't have chance."
He had a new Jacob on the line, and he was going to play him for all he was worth. "All right; I've got a lot to learn yet," Mackenzie agreed. "You have, you have that," said Tim with fatherly tenderness, "and you'll learn it like a book. I always said from the day you come you had in you the makin' of a sheepman.
But a sheepman is a hardy animal. Dry Valley Johnson had weathered too many northers to turn his back on a late summer, spiritual or real. Old? He would show them. By the next mail went an order to San Antonio for an outfit of the latest clothes, colours and styles and prices no object.
"This sheepman, Jorth?" went on Jean, in slow hesitation, as if compelled to ask what he would rather not learn. "Jorth must be the leader of this sheep faction that's harryin' us ranchers. He doesn't make threats or roar around like some of them. But he goes on raisin' an' buyin' more an' more sheep. An' his herders have been grazin' down all around us this winter.
What's the matter with me rustling up the boys and us holding down a corner of this town ourselves?" The sheepman shook his head. "We're not going to start a little private war of our own. We couldn't do that without spilling a lot of blood. No, we'll make a run for it." "That y'u, Denver?" the foreman called softly, as the sound of approaching horses reached him. "Bet your life.
Threats could not move Luck in the least. He was as hard as iron. So the sheepman found himself between the upper and the nether millstones. He could not drive his prisoner to terms and he dared not release him. For if Cullison went away unpledged he would surely send him to the penitentiary. Nor could he hold him a prisoner indefinitely.
An hour later the sound of a horse's hoofs on the bridge gave warning of a visitor, and as Cavanagh went to the door Gregg rode up, seeking particulars as to the death of the herder and the whereabouts of the sheep. The ranger was not in a mood to invite the sheepman in, and, besides, he perceived the danger to which Wetherford was exposed. Therefore his answers were short.
Mac personated the sheepman, came into the room, hung up his hat, lounged over to the poker table, said his little piece as well as he could remember it, and passed into the next room. Flandrau, Senior, taking the role of Cullison, presently got up, lifted his hat from the rack, and went to the door. With excitement trembling in her voice, the girl asked an eager question.
"I've brought back your handkerchief, Miss Cullison." "What have you done with my father?" He nodded toward the Mexican boy and Kate dismissed the lad. When he had gone she asked her question again in exactly the same words. "If we're going to discuss your father you had better get your quirt again," the sheepman suggested, touching a scar on his face.
"I did not," retorted the sheepman promptly, but grinning nevertheless at the damage, "but I see some other feller has though, and saved me the trouble." He ran his eye approvingly over the devastated homestead; and then, rising in his stirrups, he plunged suddenly into his set speech.
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