more, and Reid was away ahead of anybody who had figured in the
violence that Mackenzie had brought into the sheeplands with him as an
unwelcome stranger lets in a gust of wind on a winter night.

In spite of all this, the vocation of sheepman never appeared so full
of attractive possibilities to Mackenzie as it looked that hour. All
his old calculations were revived, his first determination proved to
him how deeply it had taken root. He had come into the sheep country
to be a flockmaster, and a flockmaster he would be. Because he was
fighting his way up to it only confirmed him in the belief that he was
following a destined course, and that he should cut a better figure
in the end, somehow, than he had made at the beginning.

Tim Sullivan thought him simple; he looked at him with undisguised
humor in his eyes, not taking the trouble to turn his back when he
laughed. And they had taken Joan away out of his hands, like a
gold-piece snatched from a child. But that was more to his credit than
his disgrace, for it proved that they feared him more than they
scorned him, let them laugh as they might.

But it was time for him to begin putting the credits over on the other
side of the book. Mackenzie took it up with Dad Frazer that evening,
Rabbit sitting by in her quiet way with a nod and a smile now and then
when directly addressed.

"I don't think you're able to go over there and let that feller off,"
Dad objected. "You can't tell about Swan; he may come round lookin'
for more trouble, and you not half the man you was before him and that
dog chawed you up that way."

"I think I'll make out, Dad. I'll keep my eyes open this time,
anyhow."

"He may not be able to slip up on you any more, but if he crowds a
fuss where'll you be at, with that hand hardly able to hold a gun?"

"It will be different this time if he does. I'm going back to the
sheep in the morning, Dad. I've got to get busy, and keep busy if I
ever make good at this game."

Dad grunted around his pipestem, his charge being burned down to the
wood, and the savor too sweet on his tongue to lose even a whiff by
giving room for a word in the door of his mouth. Presently the fire
fried and blubbered down in the pipe to the last atrocious smell, and
there followed the noise of more strong twist-tobacco being milled
between the old shepherd's rasping palms. Rabbit toddled off to bed
without a word; Dad put a match to his new charge, the light making
him blink,