"I've fed him, and I've fed all his herders and all his friends; I've grained his horses when they were ga'nted down to a shadow because his own sheep had cleaned up the feed; I've made him welcome to my house and done everything I could for him; and all I asked in return was that he would respect this upper range. He knows very well that if his sheep go through here this Fall our cattle will die in the Winter, and he knows that there is plenty of feed out on The Rolls where our cows can't go, and yet he sends you in where he's scared to go himself, just to hog our last piece of good feed and to put us out of business. I asked him down in Moroni if he thought a cowman had a right to live, and he dodged the question as if he was afraid he'd say something." He stopped abruptly and looked out over the country toward Hidden Water, while the Mexicans watched him furtively from beneath their slouched hats. "Expecting some friends?" inquired Thomas, with a saturnine grin. Hardy shook his head. "No. I came out here alone, and I left my gun in camp. I haven't got a friend within forty miles, if that's what you mean. I suppose you've got your orders, Mr. Thomas, but I just want to talk this matter over with you." "All right," said the sheepman, suddenly thawing out at the good news. "I don't have so much company as to make me refuse, even if it is a warm subject. But mebby you'd like a bite to eat before we git down to business?" He waved a deprecating hand at the greasy canvas, and Hardy swung quickly down from his saddle. "Thanks. But don't let me keep you from your dinner. Here's where I break even with Jim Swope for all that grub I cooked last Spring," he remarked, as he filled his plate. "But if it was him that asked me," he added, "I'd starve to death before I'd eat it." He sat on his heels by the canvas, with the boss sheepman on the other side, and the Mexicans who had been so cocky took their plates and retired like Apaches to the edge of the brush, where they would not obtrude upon their betters. "They say it's bad for the digestion," observed Hardy, after the first silence, "to talk about things that make you mad; so if you don't mind, Mr. Thomas, we'll forget about Jim Swope. What kind of a country is it up there in Apache County, where you keep your sheep all Summer?" "A fine country," rejoined Thomas, "and I wish to God I was back to it," he added. "Why, what's the matter with this country? It looks pretty good to me." "Ye-es," admitted the sheepman grudgingly, "it looks good enough, but--well, I lived up there a long time and I got to like it. I had one of the nicest little ranches in the White Mountains; there was good huntin' and fishin' and--well, I felt like a white man up there--never had no trouble, you understand--and I was makin' good money, too."