The Mexicans, led by Loring, loped up and reined with a slither of hoofs and the snorting of excited ponies. Corliss held up his hand. Loring spurred forward and Corliss rode to meet him.
"Want any more of it?" queried Corliss.
"I'll take all you got," snarled Loring.
"All right. Just listen a minute." And Corliss reached in his saddle-pocket. "Here's a lease from the Government covering the ten sections adjoining the water-hole ranch, on the south and west. And here's a contract with the owner of the water-hole, signed and witnessed, for the use of the water for my stock. You're playing an old-fashioned game, Loring, that's out of date. Want to look over these papers?"
"To hell with your papers. I'm here and I'm goin' to stay."
"Well, we'll visit you regular," shouted a puncher.
"Better come over to the house and talk things over," said Corliss. "I don't want trouble with you—but my boys do."
Loring hesitated. One of his men, spurring up, whispered to him.
Wingle, keenly alert, restrained a cowboy who was edging forward. "Don't start nothin'," he said. "If she's goin' to start, she'll start herself."
Loring turned to Corliss. "I'd like to look at them papers," he said slowly.