He stopped there and leapt to his feet anxiously. The mighty bulk of the _rodeo_ boss came plunging back at him through the darkness; his bruising fist shot out and the frontier troubadour went sprawling among the pack saddles. It was the first time Creede had ever struck one of his own kind,--men with guns were considered dangerous,--but this time he laid on unmercifully. "You've had that comin' to you for quite a while, Bill Lightfoot," he said, striking Bill's ineffectual gun aside, "and more too. Now maybe you'll keep shut about 'your girl'!" He turned on his heel after administering this rebuke and went to the house, leaving his enemy prostrate in the dirt. "The big, hulkin' brute," blubbered Lightfoot, sitting up and aggrievedly feeling of his front teeth, "jumpin' on a little feller like me--an' he never give me no warnin', neither. You jest wait, I'll--" "Aw, shut up!" growled Old Man Reavis, whose soul had long been harrowed by Lightfoot's festive ways. "He give you plenty of warnin', if you'd only listen. Some people have to swallow a few front teeth before they kin learn anythin'." "Well, what call did he have to jump on me like that?" protested Lightfoot. "I wasn't doin' nothin'." "No, nothin' but singin' bawdy songs about his girl," sneered Reavis sarcastically. "His girl, rats!" retorted the cowboy, vainglorious even in defeat, "she's my girl, if she's anybody's!" "Well, about _your_ girl then, you dirty brute!" snarled the old man, suddenly assuming a high moral plane for his utter annihilation. "You're a disgrace to the outfit, Bill Lightfoot," he added, with conviction. "I'm ashamed of ye." "That's right," chimed in the Clark boys, whose sensibilities had likewise been harassed; and with all the world against him Bill Lightfoot retired in a huff to his blankets. So the _rodeo_ ended as it had begun, in disaster, bickering, and bad blood, and no man rightly knew from whence their misfortune came. Perhaps the planets in their spheres had cast a malign influence upon them, or maybe the bell mare had cast a shoe. Anyhow they had started off the wrong foot and, whatever the cause, the times were certainly not auspicious for matters of importance, love-making, or the bringing together of the estranged. Let whatsoever high-priced astrologer cast his horoscope for good, Saturn was swinging low above the earth and dealing especial misery to the Four Peaks; and on top of it all the word came that old Bill Johnson, after shooting up the sheep camps, had gone crazy and taken to the hills. For a week, Creede and Hardy dawdled about the place, patching up the gates and fences and cursing the very name of sheep. A spirit of unrest hovered over the place, a brooding silence which spoke only of Tommy and those who were gone, and the two partners eyed each other furtively, each deep in his own thoughts. At last when he could stand it no longer Creede went over to the corner, and dug up his money.