ion out of you! My sheep has been killed and
my men has been intimidated on this here public range, and I want to
tell you right now, Mr. Creede, that this funny business has got to
stop!"

"Well, don't choke!" said the cowman, fingering his gun coldly. "Go
ahead and stop it, why don't you?"

He paused, a set smile on his lips, and for a moment their eyes met in
the baleful glare which rival wolves, the leaders of their packs,
confer upon each other. Then Hardy stepped out into the open, holding
up his hand for peace.

"You are mistaken, Mr. Swope," he said quietly. "Jeff hasn't shot up
any camps--he hasn't even packed a gun for the last three days."

"Oh, he hain't, hey?" sneered the sheepman, showing his jagged teeth.
"He seems to have one now."

"You betcher neck I have," cried Creede, flaring up at the implication,
"and if you're lookin' for trouble, Jasp Swope, you can open up any
time."

"W'y what's the matter with you?" protested Swope righteously. "You
must have somethin' on your mind, the way you act."

Then without waiting for a reply to this innuendo he turned his
attention to Hardy.

"He hain't shot up any camps," he repeated, "ner packed a gun for
three days, hey? Now here's where I prove you a liar, Mr. Smarty. I
seen him with my own eyes take six shots at one of my herders this
very mornin'--_and you was there!_"

He punctuated his speech by successive downward jabs of his grimy
forefinger as if he were stabbing his adversary to the heart, and
Hardy turned faint and sick with chagrin. Never had he hated a man as
he hated this great, overbearing brute before him--this man-beast,
with his hairy chest and freckled hands that clutched at him like an
ape's. Something hidden, a demon primordial and violent, rose up in
him against this crude barbarian with his bristling beard and gloating
pig eyes, and he forgot everything but his own rage at being trapped.

"You lie!" he cried passionately; and then in his anger he added a
word which he had never used, a word which goes deep under the skin
and makes men fight.

For a moment the sheepman sat staring, astounded by his vehemence; but
before he could move the sudden silence was split by the yelp of a
dog--a wild, gibbering yelp that made them jump and bristle like
hounds that are assailed from behind--and, mingling stridently with
it, was the harsh snarl of a cat. There was a swift scramble in the
dust by the door, an oath from the sheepman, and the