that moment arrived with the team, sized up the situation. When he had
recovered enough poise to stand without assistance and had wiped the
wild tears from his eyes, he instructed the amazed Sundown as to
certain manipulations necessary to produce the desired result. "Huh!
Folks says cows _give_ milk. But I reckon that ain't right," Sundown
had asserted. "You got to take it away from 'em." So he had taken
what he could, which was not, at first, a great deal.

This momentous morning he had decided that his unsolicited mission was
to induce or persuade Loring to arbitrate the question of
grazing-rights. It was a strange idea, although not incompatible with
Sundown's peculiar temperament. He felt justified in taking the
initiative; especially in view of the fact that Loring's sheep had been
trespassing on his property.

He saddled "Pill," and called to Chance. "See here, Chance, you and
me's pals. No, you ain't comin' this trip. You stick around and keep
your eye on me stock. What's mine is yourn exceptin' the rooster.
Speakin' poetical, he belongs to them hens. If he ain't here when I
get back, I can pretty nigh tell by the leavin's where he is. When I
git back I look to find you hungry, sabe? And not sneakin' around
lookin' at me edgeways with leetle feathers stickin' to your nose. I
reckon you understand."

Chance followed his master to the road, and there the dog sat gazing at
the bobbing figure of Sundown until it was but a speck in the morning
sunshine. Then Chance fell to scratching his ear with his hind foot,
rose and shook himself, and stalked indolently to the yard where he lay
with his nose along his outstretched fore legs, watching the proscribed
rooster with an eloquence of expression that illustrated the proverbial
power of mind over matter.

Sundown kept Pill loping steadily. It was a long ride, but Sundown's
mind was so preoccupied with the preparing of his proposed appeal to
the sheep-man that the morning hours and the sunlit miles swept past
unnoticed. The dark green of the acacias bordering the hacienda, the
twinkling white of the speeding windmill, and the dull brown of the
adobes became distinct and separate colors against the far edge of the
eastern sky. He reined his pony to a walk. "When you're in a hurry to
do somethin'," he informed his horse, "it ain't always good politics to
let folks know it. So we'll ride up easy, like we had money to spend,
and was jest lookin' over