ustlers, and merely seeking the office of sheriff in order to protect
the cow-thieves. When the campaign ended, my father swore to a warrant
charging Loustalot with criminal libel and sued him for one hundred
thousand dollars damages. A San Marcos County jury awarded my father a
judgment in the sum prayed for. Loustalot appealed the case to the
Supreme Court, but inasmuch as there wasn't the slightest doubt of his
guilt, the higher court affirmed the decision of the Superior Court.

"Loustalot was a poor man in those days. He was foreman of a sheep
outfit, with an interest in the increase of the flock, and inasmuch as
these Basques seldom reduce their deals to writing, the sheriff could
never satisfy himself that Loustalot had any assets in the shape of
sheep. At any rate, the Basque and his employer and all of his Basque
friends denied that Loustalot had any assets.

"For twenty-five years, my father has, whenever the statute of
limitations threatened to kill this judgment, revived it by having
Loustalot up on an order of court to be questioned regarding his
ability to meet the judgment; every once in a while my father would sue
out a new writ of execution, which would be returned unsatisfied by the
sheriff. Six months ago, my father had the judgment revived by due
legal process, and, for some reason best known to himself, assigned it
to me and had the assignment recorded. Of course, when I was reported
killed in Siberia, Loustalot's attorneys naturally informed him that my
judgment had died with me unless I had left a will in favor of my
father. But when my father died intestate and there were no known
heirs, Loustalot doubtless felt that at last the curse had been lifted
and probably began doing business in his own name. He's a thrifty
fellow and, I dare say, he made a great deal of money on sheep during
the war. I hope he has. That old judgment has been accumulating
interest at seven per cent. for more than a quarter of a century, and
in this state I believe the interest is compounded."

"But why did Loustalot hate your father so?" the girl queried.

"We had good fences on our ranch, but somehow those fences always
needed repairing whenever Andre Loustalot's flock wandered over from
the San Carpojo. In this state, one cannot recover for trespass unless
one keeps one's fences in repair--and Loustalot used to trespass on our
range quite frequently and then blame his cussedness on our fences. Of
course