rse he took. But instead of striking
for Carlson's, Reid laid a course for Sullivan's ranch-house. Going to
Tim with a complaint against him, Mackenzie judged, contempt for his
smallness rising in him. Let him go.

Tim Sullivan might give him half his sheep if he liked him well
enough, but he could not give him Joan.

CHAPTER XVII

HERTHA CARLSON

Swan Carlson or his woman was running a band of sheep very close to
the border of Tim Sullivan's lease. All afternoon Mackenzie had heard
the plaint of lambs; they had lifted their wavering chorus all during
Joan's lesson, giving her great concern that Carlson designed
attempting a trespass on her father's land.

Joan had come shortly after Reid's unexplained departure, and had gone
back to her flock again uninformed of Reid's criminal career.
Mackenzie felt that he did not need the record of his rival to hold
Joan out of his hands. The world had changed around for him amazingly
in the past few days. Where the sheeplands had promised little for him
but a hard apprenticeship and doubtful rewards a little while ago,
they now showered him with unexpected blessings.

He ruminated pleasantly on this sudden coming round the corner into
the fields of romance as he went to the top of the hill at sunset to
see what Swan Carlson was about. Over in the next valley there spread
a handful of sheep, which the shepherd was ranging back to camp.
Mackenzie could not make sure at that distance whether the keeper was
woman or man.

Reid had not returned when Mackenzie plodded into camp at dusk. His
absence was more welcome, in truth, than his company; Mackenzie hoped
he would sulk a long time and stay away until he got his course in
the sheep country plainly before his eyes. If he stayed his three
years there it would be on account of sheep, and whatever he might win
in his father's good graces by his fidelity. Joan was not to figure
thenceforward in any of his schemes.

Three years on the sheep range with no prospect of Joan! That was what
Reid had ahead of him now.

"I think I'd take mine in the pen," Mackenzie said, leaning back to
comfort with his pipe. Night came down; the dogs lay at his feet,
noses on forepaws. Below him the sheep were still. So, for a long
time, submerged in dreams.

One of the dogs lifted its head, its bristles rising, a low growl in
its throat. The other rose cautiously, walking away crouching, with
high-lifted feet. Mackenzie listened, catching n