derous; that he shot to kill with the
same gravity, but that it was that of icy determination, chilling
ferocity. He was said to be methodical in the taking of innocent life,
even more accurate than the sheriff, wily and shrewd as the leader of
a wolf-pack, and equally relentless. The Orphan was looked upon as an
abnormal development of the idea of destruction; the sheriff, a corrective
force, and almost as strong as the evil he would endeavor to overcome.
The two came as near to the scientists' little joke of the irresistible
force meeting the immovable body as can be found in human agents.

So Shields, upon hearing of The Orphan's latest manifestation of humor,
appreciated the joke to the fullest extent and made up his mind to play
a similar one on the frisky outlaw. He could not help but sympathize
with The Orphan, because every man knew what pests the sheepmen were,
and Shields, at one time a cowman, was naturally prejudiced against
sheep. He was exceedingly weary of having to guard herds of bleating
grass-shavers which so often passed across his domain, and he regarded
the sheep-raising industry as an unnecessary evil which should by all
rights be deported. But he could not excuse The Orphan's crude and savage
idea of deportation. The sheriff was really kind-hearted, and he became
angry when he thought of the outlaw driving two thousand sheep over
the steep bank of the Limping Water to a pitiful death by drowning; The
Orphan should have been satisfied in messing up the anatomy of the
herders. He did not like a glutton, and he would tell the outlaw so
in his own way.

He walked briskly through his yard and called to his wife as he passed
the house, telling her that he was going to be gone for an indefinite
period, not revealing the object of his journey, as he did not wish
to worry her. Accustomed as she was to have him face danger, she had a
loving wife's fear for his safety, and lost many hours' sleep while he
was away. He took his rifle from where it leaned against the porch and
continued on his way to the small corral in the rear of the yard, where
two horses whisked flies and sought the shade. Leading one of them
outside, he deftly slung a saddle to its back, secured the cinches
and put on a light bridle. Dropping the Winchester into its saddle
holster, he mounted and fought the animal for a few minutes just as he
always had to fight it. He spun the cylinders of his .45 Colts and ran his
fingers along the unde