But at the edge of town they met Lejeune.
"I got de ship in pasture," he told Bob. "But hees good for not more dan one wik."
"Look here, Leejune," said Welton. "I'm sorry, but you'll have to look up another range for this summer. Of course, we'll pay any loss or damage in the matter. It looks impossible to do anything with Plant."
The Frenchman threw up both hands and broke into voluble explanations. From them the listeners gathered more knowledge in regard to the sheep business than they could have learned by observation in a year. Briefly, it was necessary that the sheep have high-country feed, at once; the sheepmen apportioned the mountains among themselves, so that each had his understood range; it would now be impossible to find anywhere another range; only sometimes could one trade localities with another, but that must be arranged earlier in the season before the flocks are in the hills—in short, affairs were at a critical point, where Lejeune must have feed, and no other feed was to be had except that for which he had in all confidence contracted. Welton listened thoughtfully, his eyes between his horses.
"Can you run those sheep in, at night, or somehow?"
The Frenchman's eyes sparkled.
"I run ship two year in Yosemite Park," he bragged. "No soldier fin' me."
"That's no great shakes," said Welton drily, "from what I've seen of Park soldiers. If you can sneak these sheep across without getting caught, you do it."
"I snik ship across all right," said Lejeune. "But I can' stop hees track. The ranger he know I cross all right."
"What's the penalty?" asked Welton.