anyon Rufus Hardy came spurring like the wind to
take his place by Creede.

In the elemental clangor of the sheep they faced each other, Creede
towering on his horse, his face furious with rage; Swope gray with the
dust of his driving but undaunted by the assault.

"Stop where you are!" shouted Swope, holding out a warning hand as the
cowman showed no sign of halting. But Creede came straight on, never
flinching, until he had almost ridden him down.

"You low-lived, sheep-eatin' hound," he hissed, piling in the
wickedest of his range epithets, "you and me have had it comin' fer
quite a while, and now I've got you. I've never yet seen a sheepman
that would fight in the open, but you've got to or take _that_!" He
leaned over suddenly and slapped him with his open hand, laughing
recklessly at the Mexicans as they brandished their guns and shouted.

"_Quite se, cabrones_," he jeered, sorting out the worst of his
fighting Spanish for their benefit, "you are all gutter pups--you are
afraid to shoot!"

"Here," rasped out Jim Swope, spurring his horse in between them,
"what are you fellers tryin' to do? Git out of here, _umbre_--go on
now! Never mind, Jasp, I'll do the talkin'. You go on away, will ye!
Now what's the matter with you, Mr. Creede, and what can I do for
you?"

Jasper Swope had whirled back from the blow as a rattler throws his
coils. His gray eyes gleamed and he showed all his broken teeth as he
spat back hate and defiance at Creede; but Jim was his elder brother
and had bested him more than once since the days of their boyish
quarrels. Slowly and grudgingly he made way, backing sullenly off with
his Mexicans; and Jim stood alone, opposing his cold resolution to the
white-hot wrath of Creede.

"You can turn back them sheep and git off my range!" yelled Creede.
"Turn 'em back, I say, or I'll leave my mark on some of you!"

"How can I turn 'em back?" argued Swope, throwing out his hands.
"They's ninety thousand more behind me, and all headin' through this
pass."

"You know very well that this is a put-up job," retorted Creede hotly.
"You sheepmen have been crawlin' around on your bellies for a month to
get a chanst to sheep us out, and now you say you can't help yourself!
You're the crookedest, lyingest sheep-puller in the bunch, Jim Swope.
You'd rob a graveyard and show up for prayers the next mornin'. I can
lick you, you big Mormon-faced stiff, with one hand tied behind me,
and what's more--"

"Here