“But that was years ago, Molly.”
“And branded him a thief,” bitterly.
“Yeah, I reckon that’s right. It never was proved nor disproved, Molly. We’ve known for years that he was goin’ to try and shove sheep across the range into Lo Lo. He swore that he would sheep us out. There ain’t been a time in two years that men haven’t ridden the upper ranges, watchin’ for such a thing.
“There’s a man livin’ in Kiopo Cañon, whose job is to watch the other slope. I dunno how it was he didn’t warn us; and I dunno how your father ever found out that we were goin’ to hold the roundup two weeks ahead of time. He sure picked the right time. If we’d ’a’ known it, he’d never got his sheep up over the divide.”
“You say ‘we,’” said Molly slowly. “Are you one of them? After they have turned you out, are you still one of them?”
Jack turned away, shading his eyes with one hand, as he studied the hills.
“I’ve always been a cowman,” he said slowly. “I’ve been raised to hate sheep and yuh can’t change a man in a day.”
“What have the cattlemen done for you, Jack?”
Jack did not reply.
A man was riding out of the hills on a jaded horse. He rode slowly up to them, a bronzed, wiry cowboy, with sun-red eyes and a sweat-streaked face.