Upon this and many other feats Hardy had ample leisure to meditate, for the sheepmen regarded him no more than if he had been a monument placed high upon the point to give witness to their victory. As the sheep crossed they were even allowed to straggle out along the slopes of the forbidden mesa, untended by their shepherds; and if the upper range was the special reserve of the cowmen the sheep owners showed no knowledge of the fact. For two days the grazing herd crept slowly along the mesquite-covered flat toward Lookout Point, and on the third morning they boiled up over the rocks and spewed down into the valley of the Alamo.
“Well,” observed Creede, as he watched the slow creeping of the flock, “here’s where I have to quit you, Rufe. In a week this ground around here will 109 be as level as a billiard table and they won’t be enough horse feed in the valley to keep a burro. The town herd pulls out for Bender this mornin’ and the rest of us will move up to Carrizo Creek.”
He hurried away to oversee the packing, but when all was ready he waved the boys ahead and returned to the conversation.
“As I was sayin’ a while ago, you won’t see nothin’ but sheep around here now for the next two weeks––and all I want to say is, keep ’em out of the pasture, and f’r God’s sake don’t let ’em corral in the brandin’ pens! They’re dirty enough already, but if you git about six inches of sheep manure in there and then mill a few hundred head of cattle around on top of it, the dust would choke a skunk. Our cows ain’t so over-particular about that sheep smell, but if we poor cowboys has got to breathe sheep and eat sheep and spit up sheep every time we brand, it’s crowdin’ hospitality pretty strong. But if they want grub or clothes or tabac, go to it––and see if you can’t keep ’em off the upper range.”
He paused and gazed at Hardy with eyes which suggested a world of advice and warning––then, leaving it all unsaid, he turned wearily away.
“I look to find you with a sprained wrist,” he drawled, “when I come back––throwin’ flapjacks for them sheepmen!” He made the quick motion of turning 110 a pancake in midair, smiled grimly, and galloped after the long line of horses and packs that was stringing along up the Bronco Mesa trail. And, having a premonition of coming company, Hardy went in by the fireplace and put on a big kettle of beef. He was picking over another mess of beans when he heard the clatter of hoofs outside and the next moment the door was kicked violently open.
It was Jasper Swope who stood on the threshold, his high Texas hat thrust far back upon his head––and if he felt any surprise at finding the house occupied he gave no expression to it.
“Hello, there!” he exclaimed. “I thought you folks was all gone!”
“Nope,” replied Hardy, and continued his work in silence.
“Cookin’ for the outfit?” queried Swope, edging in at the door.