for a
tenderfoot."

CHAPTER III

THE TRAIL OF THE SHEEP

The morning dawned as clear on Bender as if there had never been storm
nor clouds, and the waxy green heads of the greasewood, dotting the
level plain with the regularity of a vineyard, sparkled with a
thousand dewdrops. Ecstatic meadow larks, undismayed by the utter lack
of meadows, sang love songs from the tops of the telegraph poles; and
the little Mexican ground doves that always go in pairs tracked
amiably about together in the wet litter of the corral, picking up the
grain which the storm had laid bare. Before the early sun had cleared
the top of the eastern mountains Jefferson Creede and Hardy had risen
and fed their horses well, and while the air was yet chill they loaded
their blankets and supplies upon the ranch wagon, driven by a
shivering Mexican, and went out to saddle up.

Since his confession of the evening before Creede had put aside his
air of friendly patronage and, lacking another pose, had taken to
smoking in silence; for there is many a boastful cowboy in Arizona who
has done his riding for the Cherrycow outfit on the chuck wagon,
swamping for the cook. At breakfast he jollied the Chinaman into
giving him two orders of everything, from coffee to hot cakes, paid
for the same at the end, and rose up like a giant refreshed--but
beneath this jovial exterior he masked a divided mind. Although he had
come down handsomely, he still had his reservations about the
white-handed little man from Cherrycow, and when they entered the
corral he saddled his iron-scarred charger by feeling, gazing craftily
over his back to see how Hardy would show up in action.

Now, first the little man took a rope, and shaking out the loop
dropped it carelessly against his horse's fore-feet--and that looked
well, for the sorrel stood stiffly in his tracks, as if he had been
anchored. Then the man from Cherrycow picked up his bridle, rubbed
something on the bit, and offered it to the horse, who graciously
bowed his head to receive it. This was a new one on Creede and in the
excitement of the moment he inadvertently cinched his roan up two
holes too tight and got nipped for it, for old Bat Wings had a mind of
his own in such matters, and the cold air made him ugly.

"Here, quit that," muttered the cowboy, striking back at him; but when
he looked up, the sorrel had already taken his bit, and while he was
champing on it Hardy had slipped the headstall over his ea