ven if it is a
warm subject. But mebby you'd like a bite to eat before we git down to
business?" He waved a deprecating hand at the greasy canvas, and Hardy
swung quickly down from his saddle.

"Thanks. But don't let me keep you from your dinner. Here's where I
break even with Jim Swope for all that grub I cooked last Spring," he
remarked, as he filled his plate. "But if it was him that asked me,"
he added, "I'd starve to death before I'd eat it."

He sat on his heels by the canvas, with the boss sheepman on the other
side, and the Mexicans who had been so cocky took their plates and
retired like Apaches to the edge of the brush, where they would not
obtrude upon their betters.

"They say it's bad for the digestion," observed Hardy, after the first
silence, "to talk about things that make you mad; so if you don't
mind, Mr. Thomas, we'll forget about Jim Swope. What kind of a country
is it up there in Apache County, where you keep your sheep all
Summer?"

"A fine country," rejoined Thomas, "and I wish to God I was back to
it," he added.

"Why, what's the matter with this country? It looks pretty good to
me."

"Ye-es," admitted the sheepman grudgingly, "it looks good enough,
but--well, I lived up there a long time and I got to like it. I had
one of the nicest little ranches in the White Mountains; there was
good huntin' and fishin' and--well, I felt like a white man up
there--never had no trouble, you understand--and I was makin' good
money, too."

His voice, which before had been harsh and strident, softened down as
he dwelt upon the natural beauty of the mountains which had been his
home, but there was a tone of sadness in his talk which told Hardy
that ultimately he had suffered some great misfortune there. His
occupation alone suggested that--for there are few white men working
as sheep-herders who lack a hard luck story, if any one will listen to
it. But this Shep Thomas was still young and unbroken, with none of
the black marks of dissipation upon his face, and his eyes were as
keen and steady as any hunter's. He was indeed the very type of
fighter that Swope had sought, hardy and fearless, and at the same
time careful. As they sat together Hardy looked him over and was glad
that he had come out unarmed, yet though his host seemed a man of just
and reasonable mind there was a set, dogged look in his eyes which
warned the cowman not to interfere, but let him talk his fill. And the
boss herder, poor lonely