And at the sound of his voice the boy ranchers, with one accord, exclaimed:
"Del Pinzo!"
"At your service, señors," came the mocking retort, and Del Pinzo, for he it was, smiled, showing his white teeth through his black, curling beard. It was the beard which had prevented his recognition up to now. Though there was something vaguely familiar about the actions of the leader of the sheep men. And he who bore the flag of truce—Del Pinzo no less—had been the leader in the attempts to cross the creek.
"Well, what do you want?" demanded Billee. "We might have known it was some of your dirty work, though I must say you've got a pretty good false face on with all them whiskers. What do you want?"
"To cross the creek, of course, Señor Billee, and pasture our sheep on that land which belongs to us."
"Belongs to you! How do you make that out?" demanded Bud, unable to keep still longer.
"Ah, the young señor speaks," mocked Del Pinzo, smilingly. "Then he should know that this land has been thrown open to all who may wish to graze sheep on it."
"This land was never intended for sheep, Del Pinzo, and you know it!" cried Billee. "Even if it was, it belongs to Mr. Merkel, though you'll never see the day he raises sheep—the stinking critters!"
"You say the land belongs to Señor Merkel?" asked Del Pinzo, lowering his hands and the flag of truce, perhaps unconsciously.
"Keep 'em up!" snarled Snake Purdee, and the flag went up again in a trice.