osin' that much real
money when you're on the make like Jim Swope! W'y, Jim would go crazy,
he'd throw a fit--and, more than that, fellers," he added, sinking his
voice to a confidential whisper, "he'd go round.

"Well, now, what ye goin' to do?" he continued, a crafty gleam coming
into his eye. "Are we goin' to foller some cow's tail around until
they jump us again? Are we goin' to leave Rufe here, to patrol a
hundred miles of range lone-handed? Not on your life--not me! We're
goin' to ride this range by day's works, fellers, and the first bunch
of sheep we find we're goin' to scatter 'em like shootin' stars--and
if any man sees Jasp Swope I'll jest ask him to let me know. Is it a
go? All right--and I'll tell you how we'll do.

"There's only three places that the sheep can get in on us: along the
Alamo, over the Juate, or around between the Peaks. Well, the whole
caboodle of us will camp up on the Alamo somewhere, and we'll jest
naturally ride them three ridges night and day. I'm goin' to ask one
of you fellers to ride away up north and foller them sheepmen down, so
they can't come a circumbendibus on us again. I'm goin' to give 'em
fair warnin' to keep off of our upper range, and then the first
wool-pullin' sheep-herder that sneaks in on Bronco Mesa is goin' to
git the scare of his life--and the coyotes is goin' to git his sheep.

"That's the only way to stop 'em! W'y, Jim Swope would run sheep on
his mother's grave if it wasn't for the five dollars fine. All right,
then, we'll jest fine Mr. Swope fifteen thousand dollars for comin' in
on our range, and see if he won't go around. There's only one thing
that I ask of you fellers--when the time comes, for God's sake _stick
together_!"

The time came in late October, when the sheep were on The Rolls. In
orderly battalions they drifted past, herd after herd, until there
were ten in sight. If any sheepman resented the silent sentinels that
rode along the rim he made no demonstration of the fact--and yet, for
some reason every herd sooner or later wandered around until it
fetched up against the dead line. There were fuzzy _chollas_ farther
out that got caught in the long wool and hurt the shearers' hands; it
was better to camp along the Alamo, where there was water for their
stock--so the simple-minded herders said, trying to carry off their
bluff; but when Creede scowled upon them they looked away sheepishly.
The _padron_ had ordered it--they could say no more.

"_Mu