nd waited, and that was
Jefferson Creede. Just as the last wild rider flashed around the
corner he jumped his horse into the canyon and, looking around, caught
sight of Juan Alvarez, half-distraught, crouching like a monkey upon a
narrow ledge.

"Well, what--the--hell!" he cried, with well-feigned amazement. "_I_
didn't know you was here!"

The sheepman swallowed and blinked his eyes, that stood out big and
round like an owl's.

"Oh, that's all right," he said.

"But it wouldn't 'a' made a dam' bit of difference if I had!" added
Creede, and then, flashing his teeth in a hectoring laugh, he put
spurs to his horse and went thundering after his fellows.

Not till that moment did the evil-eyed Juan Alvarez sense the trick
that had been played upon him.

"_Cabrone!_" he screamed, and whipping out his pistol he emptied it
after Creede, but the bullets spattered harmlessly against the rocks.

Early the next morning Jefferson Creede rode soberly along the western
rim of Bronco Mesa, his huge form silhouetted against the sky, gazing
down upon the sheep camps that lay along the Alamo; and the
simple-minded Mexicans looked up at him in awe. But when the recreant
herders of Juan Alvarez came skulking across the mesa and told the
story of the stampede, a sudden panic broke out that spread like
wildfire from camp to camp. Orders or no orders, the timid Mexicans
threw the sawhorses onto their burros, packed up their blankets and
moved, driving their bawling sheep far out over The Rolls, where
before the _chollas_ had seemed so bad. It was as if they had passed
every day beneath some rock lying above the trail, until, looking up,
they saw that it was a lion, crouching to make his spring. For years
they had gazed in wonder at the rage and violence of Grande Creede,
marvelling that the _padron_ could stand against it; but now suddenly
the big man had struck, and _bravo_ Juan Alvarez had lost his sheep.
Hunt as long as he would he could not bring in a tenth of them. _Ay,
que malo!_ The boss would fire Juan and make him walk to town; but
they who by some miracle had escaped, would flee while there was yet
time.

For two days Creede rode along the rim of Bronco Mesa--that dead line
which at last the sheepmen had come to respect,--and when at last he
sighted Jim Swope coming up from Hidden Water with two men who might
be officers of the law he laughed and went to meet them. Year in and
year out Jim Swope had been talking law--law;