here were few camps on Bronco Mesa which did not contain a herder
who had been unceremoniously moved by him. But this time the
fire-eating cowman rode grandly into camp without any awe-inspiring
demonstrations whatever.

"Are those your sheep?" he inquired, pointing to the grazing herd.

"_Si senor_," responded the boss herder humbly.

"Very well," said Creede, "move 'em, and move 'em quick. I give you
three days to get through that pass." He stretched a heavily muscled
arm very straight toward the notch in the western hills and turned
abruptly away. Hardy swung soberly in behind him and the frightened
Chihuahuanos were beginning to breathe again after their excitement
when suddenly Jeff stopped his horse.

"Say," he said, turning to the boss, "what you carryin' that cow's
horn for?"

At this pointed inquiry the boss herder flinched and looked downcast,
toying uneasily with the primitive instrument at his side.

"To blow," he answered evasively.

"Well, go ahead and blow it, then," suggested Creede amiably. "No--go
on! _I_ don't care what happens. Aw here, let me have it a minute!"

He grabbed the horn away impatiently, wiped the mouthpiece with his
sleeve, drew a long breath, and blew. A deep bass roar answered to his
effort, a bellow such as the skin-clad hunters of antiquity sent forth
when they wound the horn for their hounds, and the hills and valleys
of Carrizo and the upper mesa echoed to the blast.

"Say, that's great!" exclaimed the big cowboy, good-naturedly
resisting the appeals of the herder. "I used to have one like that
when I was a boy. Oh, I'm a blower, all right--listen to this, now!"
He puffed out his chest, screwed his lips into the horn, and blew
again, loud and long.

"How's that for high?" he inquired, glancing roguishly at his partner.
"And I could keep it up all day," he added, handing the horn back,
"only I've got business elsewhere."

"_Oyez, amigo_," he said, bending his brow suddenly upon the Mexican
herder, "remember, now--in three days!" He continued the sentence by a
comprehensive sweep of the hand from that spot out through the
western pass, favored each of the three Chihuahuanos with an abhorrent
scowl, and rode slowly away down the hogback.

"Notice anything funny over on that ridge?" he asked, jerking his head
casually toward the east. "That's Swope and Co.--the Sheepmen's
Protective Association--coming over to rescue _companero_." A line of
rapidly moving specks proved