"Well," observed Creede, as he watched the slow creeping of the flock, "here's where I have to quit you, Rufe. In a week this ground around here will be as level as a billiard table and they won't be enough horse feed in the valley to keep a burro. The town herd pulls out for Bender this mornin' and the rest of us will move up to Carrizo Creek." He hurried away to oversee the packing, but when all was ready he waved the boys ahead and returned to the conversation. "As I was sayin' a while ago, you won't see nothin' but sheep around here now for the next two weeks--and all I want to say is, keep 'em out of the pasture, and f'r God's sake don't let 'em corral in the brandin' pens! They're dirty enough already, but if you git about six inches of sheep manure in there and then mill a few hundred head of cattle around on top of it, the dust would choke a skunk. Our cows ain't so over-particular about that sheep smell, but if we poor cowboys has got to breathe sheep and eat sheep and spit up sheep every time we brand, it's crowdin' hospitality pretty strong. But if they want grub or clothes or tabac, go to it--and see if you can't keep 'em off the upper range." He paused and gazed at Hardy with eyes which suggested a world of advice and warning--then, leaving it all unsaid, he turned wearily away. "I look to find you with a sprained wrist," he drawled, "when I come back--throwin' flapjacks for them sheepmen!" He made the quick motion of turning a pancake in midair, smiled grimly, and galloped after the long line of horses and packs that was stringing along up the Bronco Mesa trail. And, having a premonition of coming company, Hardy went in by the fireplace and put on a big kettle of beef. He was picking over another mess of beans when he heard the clatter of hoofs outside and the next moment the door was kicked violently open. It was Jasper Swope who stood on the threshold, his high Texas hat thrust far back upon his head--and if he felt any surprise at finding the house occupied he gave no expression to it. "Hello, there!" he exclaimed. "I thought you folks was all gone!" "Nope," replied Hardy, and continued his work in silence. "Cookin' for the outfit?" queried Swope, edging in at the door. "Nope," replied Hardy. "Well, who the hell air ye cookin' fer then?" demanded Swope, drawing nearer. "'Scuse me if I pry into this matter, but I'm gittin' interested." He paused and showed a jagged set of teeth beneath his bristling red mustache, sneeringly. "Well, I'll tell you," answered Hardy easily. "I thought some white man might come along later and I'd ask him to dinner." He fixed his eyes upon the sheepman with an instant's disapproval and then resumed his cookery. As for Swope, his gray eyes flashed sudden fire from beneath bushy eyebrows, and then a canny smile crept across his lips.