“To you that sneaked in and took up my back-lots? Oh, it’s likely, likely!”
“But the sheep are dying, Grear.”
“Mine ain’t,” said Grear. “Get over the fence and off my land. I’ll not have you here.”
And Wilson burst into a passionate appeal that was almost a scream.
“Look here, man, if you are a man. I’ll give you ten per cent of ’em to cut the dam. They’re dying. Oh, my God! hear ’em, Grear; hear ’em! And I’ve bred ’em. I watched ’em grow. Oh, Grear, I’ll give you half!”
And Grear swore horribly.
“I’ll see them die, and see you get out. I don’t want you here.”
And now in the noise the sheep made it was difficult to hear a man speak. But the water grew up silently, and spread out, filling the hollow—a grateful and splendid sheet.
“’Tain’t all yours,” screamed Wilson. “The dam’s not legal. You’ve no right to rob me and my sheep.”
“Then go to law, you dog, and have it proved,” said Grear. And as he spoke Hill came galloping, and with him Jim and two other men. And they carried shovels.