“Why,” said Hardy innocently, “I tried to be friendly and treated you as white as I could, and I suppose––”
“Yes, you suppose,” sneered Swope grimly, “but I’ll jest tell you; we wanted you to hold your job.”
“That’s very kind of you, I’m sure,” murmured Hardy.
“Yes,” replied the sheepman sardonically, “it is––dam’ kind of us. But now the question is: What ye goin’ to do about it?”
“Why, in what way?”
“Well, now,” began Swope, patiently feeling his way, “suppose, jest for instance, that some fool Mexican herder should accidentally get in on your upper range––would you feel it your duty to put him off?”
“Well,” said Hardy, hedging, “I really hadn’t considered the matter seriously. Of course, if Judge Ware––”
“The judge is in San Francisco,” put in Swope curtly. “Now, suppose that all of us sheepmen should decide that we wanted some of that good feed up on Bronco Mesa, and, suppose, furthermore, that we should all go up there, as we have a perfect legal right to do, what would you do?”
“I don’t know,” replied Hardy politely.