During that time they had glimpses of cowboys riding across the upper part of the range but there had been no further demonstrations of violence. On the morning of the fourth day it was a gaunted, sorrowful pair of shepherds who trailed that big bunch of sheep out of the valley and up the hills. Zeb strode in the lead and hurled imprecations on all wool-bearing animals, as one old ram detached himself from the band and tried to go back to the bed ground. “’At a boy!” yelled Ricky, as Zeb bounced a piece of basalt rock off the ram’s head. “Git back yuh old curly horned animated bock-beer sign!” he whooped as the ram lowered its head and dove for him. Ricky made a frantic effort to escape, and although the ram failed to hit him square they both went down in a heap and rolled down the hill. Zeb forgot his peeve in the excitement and doubled up with mirth. “Haw! Haw! Haw!” roared a strange voice, as Ricky succeeded in getting on top of the ram. “Haw! Haw! Pretty good for uh shepherd.” Zeb turned and faced three cowboys on horseback, who had ridden up unnoticed. They slouched in their saddles and grinned at Ricky’s efforts to choke the ram. Ricky kicked the ram in the ribs and then limped up to where Zeb was. “Haw! Haw!” mimicked Ricky in a sneering tone. “I knowed uh jackass oncet which had uh voice like that and also about th’ same idea of humor.” “Sweet-tempered little shepherd, ain’t he?” laughed one of the punchers. “Eatin’ raw sheep meat ain’t calmed his disposition none whatever.” “I likes ’em raw,” stated Ricky. “I also like cow-punchers when they’re not too raw, but they’re usually uh little too light fer uh man-sized re-past.” “That’s uh plenty,” snarled the one at whom Ricky had seemingly been making his remarks. “We never came over here to exchange pleasantries with shepherds. We’re here to tell yuh to move yore woolies off this range right now, _sabe_? Tonight is th’ night. After this there ain’t goin’ to be no more sheep on th’ Willow Creek range. If you won’t move ’em, we will, _sabe_?” “You fellers,” drawled Ricky, “reminds me of dynamite in uh tin stove. It makes uh lot uh noise and messes up uh lot uh good grub and—oh well, if yuh don’t want to hear what I think of yuh, jist keep on goin’,” he remarked, as the three turned their horses and galloped off across the hills. “Well, what do yuh know about that?” groaned Zeb. “I reckon tonight is th’ night we move, Ricky.” “Unha,” agreed Ricky. “I reckon yore right. Dang bust the luck! I sprained my thumb on that old ram. Wow! She shore hurts.” Zeb shoved his hands down in his overall pockets and frowned at the sun. “It’s twenty miles to Mill City, Ricky. Did yuh ever think about what a walk that is?” “Gosh, uh sore thumb is terrible, Zeb!” wailed Ricky. “I ain’t in no shape to walk a tall now. Twenty miles! Gee, Zeb, I never did nor never will walk that far with my insides cryin’ out fer grub th’ way they are right now. I reckon I’ve plumb lost my appetite.”