"How'dy, Peters; come in?"
"I reckon it ain't worth while. I won't stay long," Buck replied. "I came down to tell you that some of yore cows are crossing our line. They're gettin' worse every day."
"That so?" asked Meeker, carelessly.
"Yes."
"Um; well, what's th' reason they shouldn't? An' what is that 'line,' that we shouldn't go over it?"
"Dawson, th' old foreman of th' Three Triangle, told you all about that," Buck replied, his whole mind given to the task of reading what sort of a man he had to deal with. "It's our boundary; an' yourn."
"Yes? But I don't recognize no boundary. What have they got to do with me?"
"It has this much, whether you recognize it or not: It marks th' north limit of yore grazin'. We don't cross it."
"Huh! You don't have to, while you've got that crick."
"We won't have th' crick, nor th' grass, either, if you drive yore cows on us. That valley is our best grazing, an' it ain't in th' agreement that you can eat it all off."