nt.

Jim Swope glanced quickly up from his work. He was a man not over
forty but bent and haggard, with a face wrinkled deep with hard lines,
yet lighted by blue eyes that still held a twinkle of grim humor.

"Hello, Jeff," he said, jotting down a number in his tally book,
"goin' by without stoppin', was ye? Better ask the cook for somethin'
to eat. Say, you're goin' up the river, ain't ye? Well, tell Pablo
Moreno and them Mexicans I lost a cut of two hundred sheep up there
somewhere. That son of a--of a herder of mine was too lazy to make a
corral and count 'em, so I don't know where they are lost, but I'll
give two bits a head for 'em, delivered here. Tell the old man that,
will you?"

He paused to enter another weight in his book, then stepped away from
the scales and came out to meet them.

"How's the feed up your way?" he inquired, smiling grimly.

"Dam' pore," replied Creede, carrying on the jest, "and it'll be
poorer still if you come in on me, so keep away. Mr. Swope, I'll make
you acquainted with Mr. Hardy--my new boss. Judge Ware has sent him
out to be superintendent for the Dos S."

"Glad to meet you, sir," said Swope, offering a greasy hand that
smelled of sheep dip. "Nice man, the old judge--here, _umbre_, put
that bag on straight! Three hundred and _fifteen_? Well I know a dam'
sight better--excuse me, boys--here, put that bag on again, and weigh
it right!"

"Well," observed Creede, glancing at his friend as the combat raged
unremittingly, "I guess we might as well pull. His busy day, you
understand. Nice feller, though--you'll like 'im." Once more the glint
of quiet deviltry came into his eyes, but he finished out the jest
soberly. "Comes from a nice Mormon family down in Moroni--six
brothers--all sheepmen. You'll see the rest of the boys when they come
through next month--but Jim's the best."

There was something in the sardonic smile that accompanied this
encomium which set Hardy thinking. Creede must have been thinking too,
for he rode past the kitchen without stopping, cocking his head up at
the sun as if estimating the length of their journey.

"Oh, did you want to git somethin' to eat?" he inquired innocently.
"No? That's good. That sheep smell kinder turns my stomach." And
throwing the spurs into Bat Wings he loped rapidly toward the summit,
scowling forbiddingly in passing at a small boy who was shepherding
the stray herd. For a mile or two he said nothing, swinging his head
to scan th