"No, I like this side," said the sheepman, pretending to admire the scenery. "I'll jest stay here a while, and then I'll cross in spite of ye. If I can't cross here," he continued, "I'll wait for the river to fall and cross down below--and then I'll sheep you to the rocks, you low-lived, skulkin' murderers! It's a wonder some of you don't shoot _me_ the way you did Juan Alvarez, down there." He waved his hand toward the point where the wooden cross rose against the sky, but no one answered the taunt. "_Murderers_, I said!" he shouted, rising up in his saddle. "I call you murderers before God A'mighty and there ain't a man denies it! Oh, my Mexicans can see that cross--they're lookin' at it now--and when the river goes down they'll come in on you, if it's only to break even for Juan." He settled back in his saddle and gazed doubtfully at the bluff, and then at the opposite shore. Nature had placed him at a disadvantage, for the river was wide and deep and his sheep were easy to turn, yet there was still a chance. "Say," he began, moderating his voice to a more conciliatory key, "I'll tell you what I'll do. There's no use shooting each other over this. Send down your best man--if he licks me I go around; if I lick him I come across. Is it a go?" There was a short silence and then an argument broke out along the bluff, a rapid fire of exhortation and protest, some urging Creede to take him up, others clamoring for peace. "No!" shouted Jefferson Creede, raising his voice angrily above the uproar. "I won't do it! I wouldn't trust a sheepman as far as I could throw a bull by the tail! You'd sell your black soul for two bits, Jasp Swope," he observed, peering warily over the top of the rock, "and you'd shoot a man in the back, too!" "But look at me!" cried Swope, dropping off his mule, "I'm stripped to my shirt; there goes my gun into the water--and I'm on your side of the river! You're a coward, Jeff Creede, and I always knowed it!" "But my head ain't touched," commented Creede dryly. "I've got you stopped anyhow. What kind of a dam' fool would I be to fight over it?" "I'll fight ye for nothin', then!" bellowed the sheepman. "I'll--" He stopped abruptly and a great quiet fell upon both shores. From the mouth of the hidden ravine a man had suddenly stepped into the open, unarmed, and now he was coming out across the sands to meet him. It was Rufus Hardy, dwarfed like David before Goliath in the presence of the burly sheepman, but striding over the hard-packed sand with the lithe swiftness of a panther. "_I'll_ fight you," he said, raising his hand in challenge, but Swope's answer was drowned in a wild yell from Creede. "Come back here, Rufe, you durn' fool!" he called. "Come back, I tell ye! Don't you know better than to trust a sheepman?" "Never mind, now," answered Hardy, turning austerely to the bluff. "I guess I can take care of myself."