ronze in the ardent sun, broke into a wild refrain, a love
song, perhaps, or a _cancion_ of old Mexico. Working side by side with
his men Jasper Swope joined in the song himself, and as they returned
empty-handed he seized the tallest and strongest of them and ducked
him in the water while his retainers roared with laughter. And Hardy,
sitting unnoticed upon his horse, began to understand why these
low-browed barbarians from Mexico were willing to fight, and if need
be to die, for their masters. The age of feudalism had returned--the
lords of the sheep went forth like barons, sharing every hardship and
leading the way in danger, and their men followed with the same
unthinking devotion that the Myrmidons showed for noble Achilles or
the Crusaders for their white-crossed knights.

Upon this and many other feats Hardy had ample leisure to meditate,
for the sheepmen regarded him no more than if he had been a monument
placed high upon the point to give witness to their victory. As the
sheep crossed they were even allowed to straggle out along the slopes
of the forbidden mesa, untended by their shepherds; and if the upper
range was the special reserve of the cowmen the sheep owners showed no
knowledge of the fact. For two days the grazing herd crept slowly
along the mesquite-covered flat toward Lookout Point, and on the third
morning they boiled up over the rocks and spewed down into the valley
of the Alamo.

"Well," observed Creede, as he watched the slow creeping of the flock,
"here's where I have to quit you, Rufe. In a week this ground around
here will be as level as a billiard table and they won't be enough
horse feed in the valley to keep a burro. The town herd pulls out for
Bender this mornin' and the rest of us will move up to Carrizo
Creek."

He hurried away to oversee the packing, but when all was ready he
waved the boys ahead and returned to the conversation.

"As I was sayin' a while ago, you won't see nothin' but sheep around
here now for the next two weeks--and all I want to say is, keep 'em
out of the pasture, and f'r God's sake don't let 'em corral in the
brandin' pens! They're dirty enough already, but if you git about six
inches of sheep manure in there and then mill a few hundred head of
cattle around on top of it, the dust would choke a skunk. Our cows
ain't so over-particular about that sheep smell, but if we poor
cowboys has got to breathe sheep and eat sheep and spit up sheep every
time we brand, i