l _only_--"
But Mr. Juan was not so accommodating. Instead of holding his sheep in
the _redondo_ he drifted them up on the mountain side, where he could
overlook the country.

"Well, I'll fix you yet," observed Creede, and leaving Jim to watch he
scuttled down to his horse and rode madly back to camp.

That afternoon as Juan Alvarez stood guard upon a hill he saw, far off
to the west, four horsemen, riding slowly across the mesa. Instantly
he whistled to his herders, waving his arms and pointing, and in a
panic of apprehension they circled around their sheep, crouching low
and punching them along until the herd was out of sight. And still the
four horsemen rode on, drawing nearer, but passing to the south. But
the sheep, disturbed and separated by the change, now set up a
plaintive bleating, and the boss herder, never suspecting the trap
that was being laid for him, scrambled quickly down from his lookout
and drove them into the only available hiding-place--the box canyon.
Many years in the sheep business had taught him into what small
compass a band of sheep can be pressed, and he knew that, once thrown
together in the dark canyon, they would stop their telltale blatting
and go to sleep. Leaving his herders to hold them there he climbed
back up to his peak and beheld the cowboys in the near distance, but
still riding east.

An hour passed and the sheep had bedded together in silence, each
standing with his head under another's belly, as is their wont, when
the four horsemen, headed by Jeff Creede himself, appeared suddenly on
the distant mountain side, riding hard along the slope. Galloping
ahead of them in an avalanche of rocks was the band of loose horses
that Alvarez had seen in the _redondo_ that morning, and with the
instinct of their kind they were making for their old stamping
ground.

Once more the sheepman leaped up from his place and scampered down the
hill to his herd, rounding up his pack animals as he ran. With mad
haste he shooed them into the dark mouth of the canyon, and then
hurried in after them like a badger that, hearing the sound of
pursuers, backs into some neighboring hole until nothing is visible
but teeth and claws. So far the boss herder had reasoned well. His
sheep were safe behind him and his back was against a rock; a hundred
men could not dislodge him from his position if it ever came to a
fight; but he had not reckoned upon the devilish cunning of
horse-taming Jeff Creede. Many a ti