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Updated: May 9, 2025
Mormon Joe added in obvious pride, "You're the best sheepman in the country, Katie, bar none." "Then I wish you'd listen to me and buy some of those Rambouillets and grade up our herd." "We're doing all right," he returned, indifferently. "Anybody would know you didn't like sheep." "They're a means to an end; they keep me in the hills out of mischief and furnish a living for us both."
His stories were of hunting and fishing, of prospecting, and restless adventures among the Indians, and every time the conversation worked around towards sheep he led it resolutely away. And for his part, never for a moment did Hardy try to crowd him, but let the talk lead where it would, until of his own volition the sheepman told his story.
And then tucked ingeniously into this account was veiled mention of a rich sheepman, too well known to need naming, who was evidently making reparation for the errors of his youth by according to the mother as good treatment as the daughter under the same roof. Not a name was mentioned except Calamity's. I trust it is obvious to you that it was not libelous, because it was without malice.
For a pair of keen eyes from the hotel office glimpsed the figure stealing past so noiselessly, and promptly followed up the stairway. "Hope I don't intrude at this happy family gathering." Helen, who had been pouring a glass of cordial for the spent and wounded sheepman, put the glass down on the table and turned at sound of the silken, sinister voice.
"No," replied Hardy, fastening his stern eyes upon the iron visage of the sheepman, "not if the lives of a thousand cattle and the last possessions of a dozen men lay in your way. You and your legal rights! It is men like you who make the law worse than nothing and turn honest cowmen into criminals.
The eyes of both mistress and maid brimmed over with tears when they saw them. Helen dragged forward a chair for the sheepman, and he sank into it. From its depths he looked up with his rare, sweet smile. "I've heard about it," he told her, in a low voice. "I've heard how y'u fought for my life all day. There's nothing I can say.
"But I've got to meet that sheepman here at the bank in the morning, where he can have somebody that he's got confidence in feel of the money and tell him it's genuine, and I'll have to put up some kind of a stall to cover the money I lost. Guess I can get away with it, somehow. Cripes!
"I understand. I have been a cowboy as well as sheepman, and have spent many weeks on the open range. It was different then," he added reminiscently. "We will drive out to my brother's ranch now, if you are ready." The boys rose instantly. They were looking forward to having their new ponies, with keen anticipation.
In the first place, he ain't a cowman he's a sheepman, on a small scale so far as sheep go but on a sure-enough big scale when yuh count his feelin's. He runs about twelve hundred woollies, and is about as unpolite a cuss as I ever met up with.
His mind traveled back to those days twenty-five years ago when he and the sheepman had both hitched their horses in front of Helen Radcliff's home. It had been a fair fight between them, and he had won as a man should. But Brad had not taken his defeat as a man should. He had nourished bitterness and played his successful rival many a mean despicable trick.
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