Hidden Water

by Dane Coolidge

  CHAPTER XXI

  THE FLOOD

  The rain came to Hidden Water in great drops, warmed by the sultryair. At the first flurry the dust rose up like smoke, and the earthhissed; then as the storm burst in tropic fury the ground was struckflat, the dust-holes caught the rush of water and held it in suddenpuddles that merged into pools and rivulets and glided swiftly away.Like a famine-stricken creature, the parched earth could not drink;its bone-dry dust set like cement beneath the too generous flood andrefused to take it in--and still the rain came down in sluicingtorrents that never stayed or slackened. The cracked dirt of the_ramada_ roof dissolved and fell away, and the stick frame leaked likea sieve. The rain wind, howling and rumbling through the framework,hurled the water to the very door where Hardy stood, and as it touchedhis face, a wild, animal exultation overcame him and he dashed outinto the midst of it. God, it was good to feel the splash of rainagain, to lean against the wind, and to smell the wet and mud! Hewandered about through it recklessly, now bringing in his saddle andbedding, now going out to talk with his horse, at last simply standingwith his hands outstretched while his whole being gloried in thestorm.

  As the night wore on and the swash of water became constant, Hardy layin his blankets listening to the infinite harmonies that lurk in theechoes of rain, listening and laughing when, out of the rumble of thestorm, there rose the deeper thunder of running waters. Already therocky slides were shedding the downpour; the draws and gulches wereleading it into the creek. But above their gurgling murmur there camea hoarser roar that shook the ground, reverberating through the dampair like the diapason of some mighty storm-piece. At daybreak hehurried up the canyon to find its source, plunging along through therain until, on the edge of the bluff that looked out up the Alamo, hehalted, astounded at the spectacle. From its cleft gate Hidden Water,once so quiet and peaceful, was now vomiting forth mud, rocks, andfoaming waters in one mad torrent; it overleapt the creek, piling upits debris in a solid dam that stretched from bank to bank, while fromits lower side a great sluiceway of yellow water spilled down into thebroad bed of the Alamo.

  Above the dam, where the canyon boxed in between perpendicular walls,there lay a great lagoon, a lake that rose minute by minute as ifseeking to override its dam, yet held back by the torrent of sand andwater that Hidden Water threw across its path. For an hour they foughteach other, the Alamo striving vainly to claim its ancient bed, HiddenWater piling higher its hurtling barrier; then a louder roarreverberated through the valley and a great wall of dancing waterswept down the canyon and surged into the placid lake. On its breast itbore brush and sticks, and trees that waved their trunks in the airlike the arms of some devouring monster as they swooped down upon thedam. At last the belated waters from above had come, the outpouringsof a hundred mountain creeks that had belched forth into the Alamolike summer cloudbursts. The forefront of the mighty storm-crestlapped over the presumptuous barrier in one hissing, high-flungwaterfall; then with a final roar the dam went out and, as thebowlders groaned and rumbled beneath the flood, the Alamo overleaptthem and thundered on.

  A sudden sea of yellow water spread out over the lower valley, treesbent and crashed beneath the weight of drift, the pasture fence duckedunder and was gone. Still irked by its narrow bed the Alamo swung awayfrom the rock-bound bench where the ranch house stood and, uprootingeverything before it, ploughed a new channel to the river. As itswirled past, Hardy beheld a tangled wreckage of cottonwoods andsycamores, their tops killed by the drought, hurried away on thisoverplus of waters; the bare limbs of _palo verdes_, felled by his ownaxe; and sun-dried skeletons of cattle, light as cork, dancing andbobbing as they drifted past the ranch.

  The drought was broken, and as the rain poured down it washed away alltoken of the past. Henceforward there would be no sign to move theuneasy spirit; no ghastly relic, hinting that God had once forgottenthem; only the water-scarred gulches and canyons, and the ricks ofdriftwood, piled high along the valleys in memory of the flood. Allday the rain sluiced down, and the Alamo went wild in its might,throwing a huge dam across the broad bed of the river itself. But whenat last in the dead of night the storm-crest of the Salagua burstforth, raging from its long jostling against chasm walls, a boom likea thunder of cannon echoed from all the high cliffs by Hidden Water;and the warring waters, bellowing and tumbling in their titanic fury,joined together in a long, mad race to the sea.

  So ended the great flood; and in the morning the sun rose up clean andsmiling, making a diamond of every dew-drop. Then once more the cattlegathered about the house, waiting to be fed, and Hardy went out asbefore to cut _sahuaros_. On the second day the creek went down andthe cattle from the other bank came across, lowing for their share.But on the third day, when the sprouts began to show on the twiningstick-cactus, the great herd that had dogged his steps for months leftthe bitter _sahuaros_ and scattered across the mesa like children on apicnic, nipping eagerly at every shoot.

  In a week the flowers were up and every bush was radiant with newgrowth. The grass crept out in level places, and the flats in thevalley turned green, but the broad expanse of Bronco Mesa still layhalf-barren from paucity of seeds. Where the earth had been torn upand trampled by the sheep the flood had seized upon both soil and seedand carried them away, leaving nothing but gravel and broken rocks;the sheep-trails had turned to trenches, the washes to gulches, thegulches to ravines; the whole mesa was criss-crossed with tiny gullieswhere the water had hurried away--but every tree and bush was in itsglory, clothed from top to bottom in flaunting green. Within a weekthe cattle were back on their old ranges, all that were left fromfamine and drought. Some there were that died in the midst of plenty,too weak to regain their strength; others fell sick from overeatingand lost their hard-earned lives; mothers remembered calves that werelost and bellowed mournfully among the hills. But as rain followedrain and the grass matured a great peace settled down upon the land;the cows grew round-bellied and sleepy-eyed, the bulls began to roaralong the ridges, and the Four Peaks cattlemen rode forth from theirmountain valleys to see how their neighbors had fared.

  They were a hard-looking bunch of men when they gathered at the Dos SRanch to plan for the fall _rodeo_. Heat and the long drought hadlined their faces deep, their hands were worn and crabbed from monthsof cutting brush, and upon them all was the sense of bitter defeat.There would be no branding in the pens that Fall--the spring calveswere all dead; nor was there any use in gathering beef steers thatwere sure to run short weight; there was nothing to do, in fact, butcount up their losses and organize against the sheep. It had been ahard Summer, but it had taught them that they must stand together orthey were lost. There was no one now who talked of waiting for ForestReserves, or of diplomacy and peace--every man was for war, and warfrom the jump--and Jefferson Creede took the lead.

  "Fellers," he said, after each man had had his say, "there's only oneway to stop them sheep, and that is to stop the first band. Never mindthe man--dam' a herder, you can buy one for twenty dollars amonth--_git the sheep_! Now suppose we stompede the first bunch thatcomes on our range and scatter 'em to hell--that's _fif-teen thousanddol-lars gone_! God A'mighty, boys, think of losin' that much realmoney when you're on the make like Jim Swope! W'y, Jim would go crazy,he'd throw a fit--and, more than that, fellers," he added, sinking hisvoice to a confidential whisper, "he'd go round.

  "Well, now, what ye goin' to do?" he continued, a crafty gleam cominginto his eye. "Are we goin' to foller some cow's tail around untilthey jump us again? Are we goin' to leave Rufe here, to patrol ahundred miles of range lone-handed? Not on your life--not me! We'regoin' to ride this range by day's works, fellers, and the first bunchof sheep we find we're goin' to scatter 'em like shootin' stars--andif any man sees Jasp Swope I'll jest ask him to let me know. Is it ago? All right--and I'll tell you how we'll do.

  "There's only three places that the sheep can get in on us: along theAlamo, over the Juate, or around between the Peaks. Well, the wholecaboodle of us will camp up on the Alamo somewhere, and we
'll jestnaturally ride them three ridges night and day. I'm goin' to ask oneof you fellers to ride away up north and foller them sheepmen down, sothey can't come a circumbendibus on us again. I'm goin' to give 'emfair warnin' to keep off of our upper range, and then the firstwool-pullin' sheep-herder that sneaks in on Bronco Mesa is goin' togit the scare of his life--and the coyotes is goin' to git his sheep.

  "That's the only way to stop 'em! W'y, Jim Swope would run sheep onhis mother's grave if it wasn't for the five dollars fine. All right,then, we'll jest fine Mr. Swope fifteen thousand dollars for comin' inon our range, and see if he won't go around. There's only one thingthat I ask of you fellers--when the time comes, for God's sake _sticktogether_!"

  The time came in late October, when the sheep were on The Rolls. Inorderly battalions they drifted past, herd after herd, until therewere ten in sight. If any sheepman resented the silent sentinels thatrode along the rim he made no demonstration of the fact--and yet, forsome reason every herd sooner or later wandered around until itfetched up against the dead line. There were fuzzy _chollas_ fartherout that got caught in the long wool and hurt the shearers' hands; itwas better to camp along the Alamo, where there was water for theirstock--so the simple-minded herders said, trying to carry off theirbluff; but when Creede scowled upon them they looked away sheepishly.The _padron_ had ordered it--they could say no more.

  "_Muy bien_," said the overbearing Grande, "and where is your_padron_?"

  "_Quien sabe!_" replied the herders, hiking up their shoulders andshowing the palms of their hands, and "Who knows" it was to the end.There was wise counsel in the camp of the sheepmen; they never hadtrouble if they could avoid it, and then only to gain a point. But itwas this same far-seeing policy which, even in a good year when therewas feed everywhere, would not permit them to spare the upper range.For two seasons with great toil and danger they had fought their wayup onto Bronco Mesa and established their right to graze there--to goaround now would be to lose all that had been gained.

  But for once the cowmen of the Four Peaks were equal to the situation.There were no cattle to gather, no day herds to hold, no calves tobrand in the pens--every man was riding and riding hard. There waswood on every peak for signal fires and the main camp was establishedon the high ridge of the Juate, looking north and south and west. Whenthat signal rose up against the sky--whether it was a smoke by day ora fire by night--every man was to quit his post and ride to harry thefirst herd. Wherever or however it came in, that herd was to bedestroyed, not by violence nor by any overt act, but by the sheepmen'sown methods--strategy and stealth.

  For once there was no loose joint in the cordon of the cowmen'sdefence. From the rim of the Mogollons to the borders of Bronco Mesathe broad trail of the sheep was marked and noted; their shiftings anddoublings were followed and observed; the bitterness of Tonto cowmen,crazy over their wrongs, was poured into ears that had alreadylistened to the woes of Pleasant Valley. When at last Jasper Swope'sboss herder, Juan Alvarez, the same man-killing Mexican that JeffCreede had fought two years before, turned suddenly aside and struckinto the old Shep Thomas trail that comes out into the deep crotchbetween the Peaks, a horseman in _chaparejos_ rode on before him,spurring madly to light the signal fires. That night a fire blazed upfrom the shoulder of the western mountain and was answered from theJuate. At dawn ten men were in the saddle, riding swiftly, withJefferson Creede at their head.

  It was like an open book to the cowmen now, that gathering of thesheep along the Alamo--a ruse, a feint to draw them away from thePeaks while the blow was struck from behind. Only one man was left toguard that threatened border--Rufus Hardy, the man of peace, who hadturned over his pistol to the boss. It was a bitter moment for himwhen he saw the boys start out on this illicit adventure; but for oncehe restrained himself and let it pass. The war would not be settled ata blow.

  At the shoulder of the Peak the posse of cowmen found Jim Clark, hisshaps frayed and his hat slouched to a shapeless mass from longbeating through the brush, and followed in his lead to a pocketvalley, tucked away among the cedars, where they threw off their packsand camped while Jim and Creede went forward to investigate. It was arough place, that crotch between the Peaks, and Shep Thomas had cuthis way through chaparral that stood horse-high before he won thesouthern slope. To the north the brush covered all the ridges in adense thicket, and it was there that the cow camp was hid; but on thesouthern slope, where the sun had baked out the soil, the mountainside stretched away bare and rocky, broken by innumerable ravineswhich came together in a _redondo_ or rounded valley and then plungedabruptly into the narrow defile of a box canyon. This was the middlefork, down which Shep Thomas had made his triumphal march the yearbefore, and down which Juan Alvarez would undoubtedly march again.

  Never but once had the sheep been in that broad valley, and the heavyrains had brought out long tufts of grama grass from the bunchy rootsalong the hillsides. As Creede and Jim Clark crept up over the brow ofthe western ridge and looked down upon it they beheld a herd of fortyor fifty wild horses, grazing contentedly along the opposite hillside;and far below, where the valley opened out into the _redondo_, theysaw a band of their own tame horses feeding. Working in from eitherside--the wild horses from the north, where they had retreated toescape the drought; the range animals from the south, where the sheephad fed off the best grass--they had made the broad mountain valley arendezvous, little suspecting the enemy that was creeping in upontheir paradise. Already the distant bleating of the sheep was in theair; a sheepman rode up to the summit, looked over at the promisedland and darted back, and as the first struggling mass of leaderspoured out from the cut trail and drifted down into the valley thewild stallions shook out their manes in alarm and trotted fartheraway.

  A second band of outlaws, unseen before, came galloping along thewestern mountain side, snorting at the clangor and the rank smell ofthe sheep, and Creede eyed them with professional interest as theleaders trotted past. Many times in the old days he had followed alongthose same ridges, rounding up the wild horses and sending themdashing down the canyon, so that Hardy could rush out from his hidingplace and make his throw. It was a natural hold-up ground, that_redondo_, and they had often talked of building a horse trap there;but so far they had done no more than rope a chance horse and let therest go charging down the box canyon and out the other end onto BroncoMesa.

  It was still early in the morning when Juan Alvarez rode down the passand invaded the forbidden land. He had the name of a bad _hombre_,this boss herder of Jasper Swope, the kind that cuts notches on hisrifle stock. Only one man had ever made Juan eat dirt, and that mannow watched him from the high rocks with eyes that followed every movewith the unblinking intentness of a mountain lion.

  "Uhr-r! Laugh, you son of a goat," growled Creede, as the big Mexicanpulled up his horse and placed one hand complacently on his hip."Sure, make yourself at home," he muttered, smiling as his enemydrifted his sheep confidently down into the _redondo_, "you're goin'jest where I want ye. Come sundown and we'll go through you like ahouse afire. If he beds in the _redondo_ let's shoot 'em into that boxcanyon, Jim," proposed the big cowman, turning to his partner, "andwhen they come out the other end all hell wouldn't stop 'em--they'llgo forty ways for Sunday."

  "Suits me," replied Jim, "but say, what's the matter with roundin' upsome of them horses and sendin' 'em in ahead? That boss Mexican isgoin' to take a shot at some of us fellers if we do the workourselves."

  "That's right, Jim," said Creede, squinting shrewdly at the threearmed herders. "_I'll_ tell ye, let's send them wild horses through'em! Holy smoke! jest think of a hundred head of them outlaws comin'down the canyon at sundown and hammerin' through that bunch of sheep!And we don't need to git within gunshot!"

  "Fine and dandy," commented Jim, "but how're you goin' to hold yourhorses to it? Them herders will shoot off their guns and turn 'emback."

  "Well, what's the matter with usin' our tame horses for a hold-up herdand then sendin' the whole bunch through together? They'll strike f
orthe box canyon, you can bank on that, and if Mr. Juan will _only_--"But Mr. Juan was not so accommodating. Instead of holding his sheep inthe _redondo_ he drifted them up on the mountain side, where he couldoverlook the country.

  "Well, I'll fix you yet," observed Creede, and leaving Jim to watch hescuttled down to his horse and rode madly back to camp.

  That afternoon as Juan Alvarez stood guard upon a hill he saw, far offto the west, four horsemen, riding slowly across the mesa. Instantlyhe whistled to his herders, waving his arms and pointing, and in apanic of apprehension they circled around their sheep, crouching lowand punching them along until the herd was out of sight. And still thefour horsemen rode on, drawing nearer, but passing to the south. Butthe sheep, disturbed and separated by the change, now set up aplaintive bleating, and the boss herder, never suspecting the trapthat was being laid for him, scrambled quickly down from his lookoutand drove them into the only available hiding-place--the box canyon.Many years in the sheep business had taught him into what smallcompass a band of sheep can be pressed, and he knew that, once throwntogether in the dark canyon, they would stop their telltale blattingand go to sleep. Leaving his herders to hold them there he climbedback up to his peak and beheld the cowboys in the near distance, butstill riding east.

  An hour passed and the sheep had bedded together in silence, eachstanding with his head under another's belly, as is their wont, whenthe four horsemen, headed by Jeff Creede himself, appeared suddenly onthe distant mountain side, riding hard along the slope. Gallopingahead of them in an avalanche of rocks was the band of loose horsesthat Alvarez had seen in the _redondo_ that morning, and with theinstinct of their kind they were making for their old stampingground.

  Once more the sheepman leaped up from his place and scampered down thehill to his herd, rounding up his pack animals as he ran. With madhaste he shooed them into the dark mouth of the canyon, and thenhurried in after them like a badger that, hearing the sound ofpursuers, backs into some neighboring hole until nothing is visiblebut teeth and claws. So far the boss herder had reasoned well. Hissheep were safe behind him and his back was against a rock; a hundredmen could not dislodge him from his position if it ever came to afight; but he had not reckoned upon the devilish cunning ofhorse-taming Jeff Creede. Many a time in driving outlaws to the riverhe had employed that same ruse--showing himself casually in thedistance and working closer as they edged away until he had gained hisend.

  The sun was setting when Creede and his cowboys came clattering downthe mountain from the east and spurred across the _redondo_, whoopingand yelling as they rounded up their stock. For half an hour they rodeand hollered and swore, apparently oblivious of the filigree of sheeptracks with which the ground was stamped; then as the _remuda_ quieteddown they circled slowly around their captives, swinging theirwide-looped ropes and waiting for the grand stampede.

  The dusk was beginning to gather in the low valley and the weirdevensong of the coyotes was at its height when suddenly from the norththere came a rumble, as if a storm gathered above the mountain; thenwith a roar and the thunder of distant hoofs, the crashing of brushand the nearer click of feet against the rocks a torrent of wildhorses poured over the summit of the pass and swept down into theupper valley like an avalanche. Instantly Creede and his cowboysscattered, spurring out on either wing to turn them fair for the boxcanyon, and the tame horses, left suddenly to their own devices, stoodhuddled together in the middle of the _redondo_, fascinated by theswift approach of the outlaws. Down the middle of the broad valleythey came, flying like the wind before their pursuers; at sight ofCreede and his cowboys and the familiar hold-up herd they swerved andslackened their pace; then as the half-circle of yelling cowmen closedin from behind they turned and rushed straight for the box canyon,their flint-like feet striking like whetted knives as they poured intothe rocky pass. Catching the contagion of the flight the tame horsesjoined in of their own accord, and a howl of exultation went up fromthe Four Peaks cowmen as they rushed in to complete the overthrow. Inone mad whirl they mingled--wild horses and tame, and wilder ridersbehind; and before that irresistible onslaught Juan Alvarez and hisherders could only leap up and cling to the rocky cliffs like bats.And the sheep! A minute after, there were no sheep. Those that werenot down were gone--scattered to the winds, lost, annihilated!

  Seized by the mad contagion, the cowboys themselves joined in theawful rout, spurring through the dark canyon like devils let loose fromhell. There was only one who kept his head and waited, and that wasJefferson Creede. Just as the last wild rider flashed around thecorner he jumped his horse into the canyon and, looking around, caughtsight of Juan Alvarez, half-distraught, crouching like a monkey upon anarrow ledge.

  "Well, what--the--hell!" he cried, with well-feigned amazement. "_I_didn't know you was here!"

  The sheepman swallowed and blinked his eyes, that stood out big andround like an owl's.

  "Oh, that's all right," he said.

  "But it wouldn't 'a' made a dam' bit of difference if I had!" addedCreede, and then, flashing his teeth in a hectoring laugh, he putspurs to his horse and went thundering after his fellows.

  Not till that moment did the evil-eyed Juan Alvarez sense the trickthat had been played upon him.

  "_Cabrone!_" he screamed, and whipping out his pistol he emptied itafter Creede, but the bullets spattered harmlessly against the rocks.

  Early the next morning Jefferson Creede rode soberly along the westernrim of Bronco Mesa, his huge form silhouetted against the sky, gazingdown upon the sheep camps that lay along the Alamo; and thesimple-minded Mexicans looked up at him in awe. But when the recreantherders of Juan Alvarez came skulking across the mesa and told thestory of the stampede, a sudden panic broke out that spread likewildfire from camp to camp. Orders or no orders, the timid Mexicansthrew the sawhorses onto their burros, packed up their blankets andmoved, driving their bawling sheep far out over The Rolls, wherebefore the _chollas_ had seemed so bad. It was as if they had passedevery day beneath some rock lying above the trail, until, looking up,they saw that it was a lion, crouching to make his spring. For yearsthey had gazed in wonder at the rage and violence of Grande Creede,marvelling that the _padron_ could stand against it; but now suddenlythe big man had struck, and _bravo_ Juan Alvarez had lost his sheep.Hunt as long as he would he could not bring in a tenth of them. _Ay,que malo!_ The boss would fire Juan and make him walk to town; butthey who by some miracle had escaped, would flee while there was yettime.

  For two days Creede rode along the rim of Bronco Mesa--that dead linewhich at last the sheepmen had come to respect,--and when at last hesighted Jim Swope coming up from Hidden Water with two men who mightbe officers of the law he laughed and went to meet them. Year in andyear out Jim Swope had been talking law--law; now at last they wouldsee this law, and find out what it could do. One of the men with Swopewas a deputy sheriff, Creede could tell that by his star; but theother man might be almost anything--a little fat man with a pointedbeard and congress shoes; a lawyer, perhaps, or maybe some towndetective.

  "Is this Mr. Creede?" inquired the deputy, casually flashing his staras they met beside the trail.

  "That's my name," replied Creede. "What can I do for you?"

  "Well, Mr. Creede," responded the officer, eying his man carefully, "Icome up here to look into the killing of Juan Alvarez, a Mexicansheep-herder."

  "The killin'?" echoed Creede, astounded.

  "That's right," snapped the deputy sheriff, trying to get the jump onhim. "What do you know about it?"

  "Who--me?" answered the cowman, his eyes growing big and earnest as hegrasped the news. "Not a thing. The last time I saw Juan Alvarez hewas standin' on a ledge of rocks way over yonder in the middlefork--and he certainly was all right then."

  "Yes? And when was this, Mr. Creede?"

  "Day before yesterday, about sundown."

  "Day before yesterday, eh? And just what was you doin' over there atthe time?"

  "Well, I'll tell ye," began Creede circumstantially. "Me and Ben
Reavis and a couple of the boys had gone over toward the Pocket tocatch up our horses. They turned back on us and finally we run 'eminto that big _redondo_ up in the middle fork. I reckon we was ridin'back and forth half an hour out there gittin' 'em stopped, and wenever heard a peep out of this Mexican, but jest as we got our_remuda_ quieted down and was edgin' in to rope out the ones wewanted, here comes a big band of wild horses that the other boys hadscared up over behind the Peaks, roaring down the canyon and into us.Of course, there was nothin' for it then but to git out of the way andlet 'em pass, and we did it, dam' quick. Well, sir, that bunch of wildhorses went by us like the mill tails of hell, and of course our_remuda_ stompeded after 'em and the whole outfit went bilin' throughthe box canyon, where it turned out Juan Alvarez had been hidin' hissheep. That's all I know about it."

  "Well, did you have any trouble of any kind with this deceasedMexican, Mr. Creede? Of course you don't need to answer that if itwill incriminate you, but I just wanted to know, you understand."

  "Oh, that's all right," responded the cowman, waving the suggestionaside with airy unconcern. "This is the first I've heard of anykillin', but bein' as you're an officer I might as well come throughwith what I know. I don't deny for a minute that I've had trouble withJuan. I had a fist fight with him a couple of years ago, and I lickedhim, too--but seein' him up on that ledge of rocks when I rode throughafter my horses was certainly one of the big surprises of my life."

  "Uh, you was surprised, was ye?" snarled Swope, who had been gloweringat him malignantly through his long recital. "Mebbe--"

  "Yes, I was surprised!" retorted Creede angrily. "And I was like theman that received the gold-headed cane--I was _pleased_, too, ifthat's what you're drivin' at. I don't doubt you and Jasp sent thatdam' Greaser in there to sheep us out, and if he got killed you've gotyourself to thank for it. He had no business in there, in the firstplace, and in the second place, I gave you fair warnin' to keep 'imout."

  "You hear that, Mr. Officer?" cried the sheepman. "He admits makingthreats against the deceased; he--"

  "Just a moment, just a moment, Mr. Swope," interposed the deputysheriff pacifically. "Did you have any words with this Juan Alvarez,Mr. Creede, when you saw him in the canyon? Any trouble of any kind?"

  "No, we didn't have what you might call trouble--that is, nothin'serious."

  "Well, just what words passed between you? This gentleman here is thecoroner; we've got the body down at the ranch house, and we may wantto suppeenie you for the inquest."

  "Glad to meet you, sir," said Creede politely. "Well, all they was toit was this: when I rode in there and see that dam' Mexican standin'up on a ledge with his eyes bulgin' out, I says, 'What in hell--_I_didn't know you was here!' And he says, 'Oh, that's all right.'"

  "Jest listen to the son-of-a-gun lie!" yelled Jim Swope, besidehimself with rage. "_Listen_ to him! He said that was all right, didhe? Three thousand head of sheep stompeded--"

  "Yes," roared Creede, "he said: 'That's all right.' And what's more,there was another Mexican there that heard him! Now how about it,officer; how much have I got to take off this dam' sheep puller beforeI git the right to talk back? Is he the judge and jury in this matter,or is he just a plain buttinsky?"

  "I'll have to ask you gentlemen to key down a little," replied thedeputy noncommittally, "and let's get through with this as soon aspossible. Now, Mr. Creede, you seem to be willing to talk about thismatter. I understand that there was some shots fired at the time youspeak of."

  "Sure thing," replied Creede. "Juan took a couple of shots at me as Iwas goin' down the canyon. He looked so dam' funny, sittin' up on thatledge like a monkey-faced owl, that I couldn't help laughin', and ofcourse it riled him some. But that's all right--I wouldn't hold it upagainst a dead man."

  The deputy sheriff laughed in spite of himself, and the coronerchuckled, too. The death of a Mexican sheep-herder was not a verysombre matter to gentlemen of their profession.

  "I suppose you were armed?" inquired the coroner casually.

  "I had my six-shooter in my shaps, all right."

  "Ah, is that the gun? What calibre is it?"

  "A forty-five."

  The officers of the law glanced at each other knowingly, and thedeputy turned back toward the ranch.

  "The deceased was shot with a thirty-thirty," observed the coronerbriefly, and there the matter was dropped.

  "Umm, a thirty-thirty," muttered Creede, "now who in--" He paused andnodded his head, and a look of infinite cunning came into his face ashe glanced over his shoulder at the retreating posse.

  "Bill Johnson!" he said, and then he laughed--but it was not apleasant laugh.