ocity when sheep dogs
were about. He peered out of his porthole for a moment, warily, then
his stump tail began to twitch, he worked his hind claws into the
wood, and leapt. A yelp of terror from the _ramada_ heralded his
success and Creede ran like a boy to look.

"He's jumped one, by Joe!" he exclaimed. "What did I tell ye--that cat
is a holy terror on dogs!"

The dog in question--a slinking, dispirited cur--wagged its tail
apologetically from a distance, shaking its bloody ears, while Tommy
swelled and hissed viciously at him from his stronghold. It was a
sheep dog, part collie, part shepherd, and the rest plain yellow--a
friendly little dog, too, and hungry. But the heart of Creede,
ordinarily so tender, was hardened by his disasters.

"Git out of here!" he commanded roughly. "Git, you yap, or I'll burn
you up with a bullet!

"This is what comes of leavin' your gun off," he grumbled, as he
unbound his bed and grabbed up his pistol. But as he stepped out into
the open to shoot, his barbarity was checked by a clatter of hoofs
and, looking up, he saw Jasper Swope on his big black mule, ambling
truculently in across the open.

"Hyar!" he shouted, shaking his fist angrily, "don't you shoot my dog,
you--or I'll be the death of ye!"

"Oh, I don't know," responded Creede, bristling back at him. "Keep the
blame pup away, then--and keep that other dog away, too, or my cat'll
eat 'im up! Well, I notice you took the occasion to come down and
sheep me out," he observed, as Swope pulled up before the door.

"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.

"I've took a lot off'n you, Jeff Creede," he shouted, swinging his
arms wildly, "but I've got a bellyful of this night work! And I come
down to tell you that next time you shoot up one of my camps there'll
be trouble!"

"I never shot up your old camp," growled Creede, "nor any other camp.
I'm dam' glad to hear that somebody else did though," he added
vindictively, "and I hope to God he fixed you good and proper. Now
what can I do for you, Mr. Swope?" he inquired, thrusting out his
chin. "I suppose you must be hurryin' on, of course."

"No!" cried Swope, slapping his saddle horn vehemently. "I come down
here to git some satisfact