ached this shelter, there
was no one in sight. As they reined in, one of the leaders called, "Come
out of there, you black-hearted dog!"

There was no response. Twenty guns were drawn from their holsters. There
was a moment's pause, and the guns were raised. But the curtains of the
wagon were drawn, and a figure appeared and descended to the ground. The
guns were held suspended in the hands of their surprised owners--for
they faced a woman.

The lynching party drew the line at killing the woman--though she did
not know that--but they did not draw the line at making her talk. She
was a half-breed, and she spoke English very badly, but with a gun
thrust in her face, she spoke enough.

And from what the frightened creature gasped out, and from what Mart
Cooley figured in his mind, this is what was learned: Knowing that the
cattlemen would seek revenge, but would first round up their scattered
herd, the sheepmen had had time to act. They had driven almost all their
sheep to the home ranch of the big owners, thinking they could be
protected better there. They had gathered all the men available, and
these were at the ranch, awaiting an attack. The woman's flock was too
far away to be driven in, and she had been left in charge because the
sheepmen had thought that the cowmen would not harm her.

With this knowledge gained, the party wasted no more time on the woman
or on her scattered sheep, but started off for the bigger game. When
Injun and Whitey arrived on the spot, the woman had nothing more to say.
She possibly felt that she had talked enough. Besides, she was busy
smoking a pipe and waiting for the clever dogs to gather the scattered
flock. But the ground was like the page of a book to Injun, and he read
there, much better than the woman could have told him, that the sheep
had been scattered, and the direction in which the men had gone.

Donald Spellman, the manager of the sheep ranch, was a clever, daring,
and resourceful man. His ranch house was situated at the head of a
narrow canyon, or coulee, that led up into steep, barren hills down
which no horse could go. Into this pocket he had the sheep driven by
thousands. Across the narrow entrance his men had built a heavy
barbed-wire fence that was not visible from the foothills. In the
daytime the pass could be defended from the ranch house. At night, with
the sheepmen stationed in the hills, an attempt to break through that
wire fence would be more than dangerous.