upper end of the mesa as well, before the first sheep
dust showed against the hills. The _rodeo_ outfit left Carrizo and
came down to Hidden Water, driving their herd before them, and still
no sheep appeared. So long had they strained their eyes for nothing
that the cowmen from the north became uneasy, dropping out one by one
to return to their ranches for fear that the sheep had crept in and
laid waste their pastures and corrals. Yet the round-up ended without
a band in sight, where before The Rolls had been ploughed into
channels by their multitude of feet.

In a slow fever of apprehension Hardy rode ceaselessly along the rim
of Bronco Mesa, without finding so much as a track. Throughout that
long month of watching and waiting the memory of his conversation with
Jim Swope had haunted him, and with a sinister boding of impending
evil he had ridden far afield, even to the lower crossing at Pablo
Moreno's, where a few Mexicans and Basques were fording the shallow
river. Not one of those veiled threats and intimations had he confided
to Creede, for the orders from Judge Ware had been for peace and Jeff
was hot-headed and hasty; but in his own mind Hardy pictured a solid
phalanx of sheep, led by Jasp Swope and his gun-fighting Chihuahuanos,
drifting relentlessly in over the unravaged mesa. Even that he could
endure, trusting to some appeal or protest to save him from the
ultimate disaster, but the strain of this ominous waiting was more
than Hardy's nerves could stand.

As the town herd was put on the long trail for Bender and the round-up
hands began to spit dry for their first drink, the premonition of evil
conquered him and he beckoned Creede back out of the rout.

"I've got a hunch," he said, "that these sheepmen are hanging back
until you boys are gone, in order to raid the upper range. I don't
_know_ anything, you understand, but I'm looking for trouble. How does
it look to you?"

"Well," answered Creede sombrely, "I don't mind tellin' you that this
is a new one on me. It's the first fall gather that I can remember
when I didn't have a round-up with a sheepman or two. They're willin'
enough to give us the go-by in the Spring, when there's grass
everywhere, but when they come back over The Rolls in the Fall and see
what they've done to the feed--well, it's like fightin' crows out of a
watermelon patch to protect that upper range.

"The only thing I can think of is they may be held back by this dry
weather. But,