Tommy sat up and washed his face contentedly, peering about with intent yellow eyes and sniffing at the countless odors with which his world was filled--then suddenly with a low whining growl he lashed across the room like a tiger and leapt up into his cat hole. This was a narrow tunnel, punched through the adobe wall near the door and boxed in with a projecting cribbing to keep out the snakes and skunks. Through it when his protectors were away he could escape the rush of pursuing coyotes, or sally forth with equal ferocity when sheep dogs were about. He peered out of his porthole for a moment, warily, then his stump tail began to twitch, he worked his hind claws into the wood, and leapt. A yelp of terror from the _ramada_ heralded his success and Creede ran like a boy to look. "He's jumped one, by Joe!" he exclaimed. "What did I tell ye--that cat is a holy terror on dogs!" The dog in question--a slinking, dispirited cur--wagged its tail apologetically from a distance, shaking its bloody ears, while Tommy swelled and hissed viciously at him from his stronghold. It was a sheep dog, part collie, part shepherd, and the rest plain yellow--a friendly little dog, too, and hungry. But the heart of Creede, ordinarily so tender, was hardened by his disasters. "Git out of here!" he commanded roughly. "Git, you yap, or I'll burn you up with a bullet! "This is what comes of leavin' your gun off," he grumbled, as he unbound his bed and grabbed up his pistol. But as he stepped out into the open to shoot, his barbarity was checked by a clatter of hoofs and, looking up, he saw Jasper Swope on his big black mule, ambling truculently in across the open. "Hyar!" he shouted, shaking his fist angrily, "don't you shoot my dog, you--or I'll be the death of ye!" "Oh, I don't know," responded Creede, bristling back at him. "Keep the blame pup away, then--and keep that other dog away, too, or my cat'll eat 'im up! Well, I notice you took the occasion to come down and sheep me out," he observed, as Swope pulled up before the door. "I _did_ not," retorted the sheepman promptly, but grinning nevertheless at the damage, "but I see some other feller has though, and saved me the trouble." He ran his eye approvingly over the devastated homestead; and then, rising in his stirrups, he plunged suddenly into his set speech. "I've took a lot off'n you, Jeff Creede," he shouted, swinging his arms wildly, "but I've got a bellyful of this night work! And I come down to tell you that next time you shoot up one of my camps there'll be trouble!" "I never shot up your old camp," growled Creede, "nor any other camp. I'm dam' glad to hear that somebody else did though," he added vindictively, "and I hope to God he fixed you good and proper. Now what can I do for you, Mr. Swope?" he inquired, thrusting out his chin. "I suppose you must be hurryin' on, of course."