Sink or swim, the sheep were in the water, and for a minute there was a tense silence along the river; then, as the goats lined out, a rifle shot echoed from the cliffs and a white column of water rose up before the leader. He shook his head, hesitated and looked back, and once more the water splashed in his face, while the deep _ploomp_ of the bullet answered to the shot. Fighting away from the sudden stroke the goat lost his headway and, drifting, fouled those below him; a sudden confusion fell upon the orderly ranks of the invaders and, like a flock of geese whose leader is killed, they jostled against one another, some intent on the farther shore and some struggling to turn back. Instantly a chorus of savage shouts rose up from along the river, the shrill yells of the cowboys mingling with the whooping and whistling of the sheepmen, until at last, overcome by the hostile clamor, the timid sheep turned back toward the main herd, drawing with them the goats. For a minute Jasper Swope fought against them, waving his hat and shouting; then, rather than see them drift too far and be drawn into the clutch of the whirlpool, he whipped his mule about and led them back to the shore. A second time, calling out all his men to help, the boss sheepman tried to cross the goats alone, intending to hold them on the shore for a lure; but just as they were well lined out the same careful marksman behind the _malpai_ threw water in their faces and turned them back. But this time Jasper Swope did not lead the retreat. Slapping his black mule over the ears with his hat he held straight for the opposite shore, cursing and brandishing his gun. "You dam', cowardly passel of tail-twisters!" he cried, shaking his fist at the bluffs, "why don't you come out into the open like men?" But a grim silence was his only answer. "Hey, you bold bad man from Bitter Creek, Texas!" he shouted, riding closer to the beach. "Why don't you come down and fight me like a man?" His big voice was trembling with excitement and he held his pistol balanced in the air as if awaiting an attack, but Jefferson Creede did not answer him. "I'll fight you, man to man, you big blowhard!" thundered Swope, "and there goes my pistol to prove it!" He rose in his stirrups as he spoke and hurled it away from him, throwing his cartridge belt after it. "_Now_," he yelled, "you've been sayin' what you'd do; come out of your hole, Jeff Creede, I want ye!" "Well, you won't git me, then," answered Creede, his voice coming cold and impassive from over the rim. "I'll fight you some other time." "Ahrr!" taunted Swope, "hear the coward talk! Here I stand, unarmed, and he's afraid to come out! But if there's a man amongst you, send him down, and if he licks me I'll go around." "You'll go around anyhow, you Mormon-faced wool-puller!" replied the cowman promptly, "and we're here to see to it, so you might as well chase yourself."