ded the misery of a man who would go crazy watching the shifting,
crawling maggots anyway. It was bad enough to be a cow milker, but to be
a sheep herder was living death.

These herds thickened from year to year. They followed the feed, were
clipped once, sometimes twice, and then were headed back to winter in
the south, dying in myriads on the way--only to reappear augmented in
numbers the succeeding year. They were worthless as mutton, and at first
were never shipped, but as the flocks were graded up, the best were
culled and sent to Eastern markets. They menaced the cattlemen in the
West and South, while the rancher made slow but inexorable advance on
the East. As the cattleman came to understand this his face grew dark
and sullen, but thus far no herd had entered the Big Sandy Range, though
Williams feared their coming and was ready to do battle.

At the precise time that Daniel Pratt was entering Cheyenne County from
the East, a Mexican sheepman was moving toward the Cannon Ball from the
Southwest, walking behind ten thousand sheep, leaving a dusty, bare and
stinking trail behind him. Williams' report drew the attention of the
cattlemen, and the Pratts were for the time forgotten.

A few days after Daniel's assault on the fences of the big ranch, a
conference of cattlemen met and appointed a committee to wait upon the
owner of the approaching flock of sheep. The Pratts heard of this, and,
for reasons of their own, determined to be present. Mose, eager to see
the outcome of these exciting movements, accompanied the Pratts on their
ride over the hills.

They found the man and his herders encamped on the bank of a little
stream in a smooth and beautiful valley. He had a covered wagon and a
small tent, and a team of hobbled horses was feeding near. Before the
farmers had time to cross the stream the cattlemen came in sight, riding
rapidly, and the Pratts waited for them to come up. As they halted on
the opposite bank of the stream the sheep owner came out of his tent
with a rifle in his arm and advanced calmly to meet them.

"Good evening, gentlemen," he called pleasantly, but the slant of his
chin was significant. He was a tall, thin man with a long beard. He wore
an ordinary sombrero, with wide, stiff brim, a gray shirt, and loose,
gray trousers. At his belt, and significantly in front and buttoned
down, hung two splendid revolvers. Aside from these weapons, he looked
like a clergyman camping for the summer.