, a swarthy herder leapt into the midst and
tumbled them, sheep and goats alike, into the water. Like plummets
they went down into the slow-moving depths, some headfirst, some
falling awkwardly on their backs or slipping like beavers on a slide;
there was a prolonged and mighty splash and then, one by one the heads
bobbed up and floated away until, led by the high-horned goats, they
struck out for the opposite shore. Below, yelling and throwing stones
to frighten them, a line of Mexicans danced up and down along the
rocky shore, and to keep them from drifting into the whirlpool Jasper
Swope plunged boldly into the water on his mule.

Sink or swim, the sheep were in the water, and for a minute there was
a tense silence along the river; then, as the goats lined out, a rifle
shot echoed from the cliffs and a white column of water rose up before
the leader. He shook his head, hesitated and looked back, and once
more the water splashed in his face, while the deep _ploomp_ of the
bullet answered to the shot. Fighting away from the sudden stroke the
goat lost his headway and, drifting, fouled those below him; a sudden
confusion fell upon the orderly ranks of the invaders and, like a
flock of geese whose leader is killed, they jostled against one
another, some intent on the farther shore and some struggling to turn
back. Instantly a chorus of savage shouts rose up from along the
river, the shrill yells of the cowboys mingling with the whooping and
whistling of the sheepmen, until at last, overcome by the hostile
clamor, the timid sheep turned back toward the main herd, drawing with
them the goats. For a minute Jasper Swope fought against them, waving
his hat and shouting; then, rather than see them drift too far and be
drawn into the clutch of the whirlpool, he whipped his mule about and
led them back to the shore.

A second time, calling out all his men to help, the boss sheepman
tried to cross the goats alone, intending to hold them on the shore
for a lure; but just as they were well lined out the same careful
marksman behind the _malpai_ threw water in their faces and turned
them back. But this time Jasper Swope did not lead the retreat.
Slapping his black mule over the ears with his hat he held straight
for the opposite shore, cursing and brandishing his gun.

"You dam', cowardly passel of tail-twisters!" he cried, shaking his
fist at the bluffs, "why don't you come out into the open like men?"

But a grim silence was h