"When I leave this range I'll go of my own accord, an' there won't be no pushin'," retorted Johnny. "Sherwood can 'tend to his own business; I'll 'tend to mine; but I've got time to look after a little of yourn. If you ain't godfather to th' SV, yo're shore goin' to act like one. There's nine hundred an' seventy head clean missin' from it, an' there's plenty of big ranches down Texas way that would yell for th' rangers, an' holler calamity if they had lost that many. For a little ranch to lose 'em it is shore enough calamity. If anybody would put that many cows on th' trail for me I'd show 'em a lot of money at th' other end." "SV calamities don't mean nothin' to me," rejoined Big Tom. "It was allowed to run itself, an' it run itself into th' ground. Why wouldn't it lose a lot of cattle?" "It shore might do just that," conceded Johnny, "if it wasn't for one thing. Yo're an old hand in th' cattle business, an' you know that a bunch of cattle can run wild an' grow amazin'. An' they'd shore do it on a range like th' SV with that valley an' them brush-filled draws for winter shelter. There ain't no natural enemies to cut down th' calves--an' that ranch is good grazin' all year 'round. There wasn't cows enough to eat it down." "There's them quicksands, an' there was a lot of gray wolves runnin' down here th' last couple of years!" shouted Big Tom, red with anger. "They never even kept up th' wire fence around th' quicksands. Why wouldn't they lose cows?" "The quicksands would get a few," rejoined Johnny. "They would get more if th' cows was drove into 'em like I caught Lang doin'--an' them will be figgered in th' herd to be throwed back. I've asked about wolves an' everythin' else--there wasn't nothin' to keep 'em down. An' as for that fence, th' less you, or any of yore gang have to say about that, th' better it'll be for you." "Then yo're callin' me a liar," blazed the foreman. "There _was_ wolves down here! An' I never touched that fence, neither." "Mebby you didn't personal; an' I ain't callin' you a liar while you ain't got a gun," retorted Johnny. "But I am admittin' that yo're plumb mistaken. Comin' down to cases, pleasant an' friendly, I'm sayin' that th' Bar H owes the SV nine hundred an' seventy head of cattle, as they come in a round-up, all kinds an' conditions. When do you aim to start deliverin'?" The foreman sprang to his feet. "When do I aim to start deliverin'?" he shouted, staring into the calm, gray eyes of the man whose Colt covered him. "When do I aim to start deliverin'?" he repeated, his neck swelling. "I ain't aimin' to at all! Nine hundred an' seventy! That would plumb ruin us!"