“I said I’d do it, didn’t I, if he didn’t come around? Well, I’ve done it. There’s nobody watchin’ them sheep to-night.” And thus it was to be seen that José had lived long enough among Americans to acquire the vernacular. Only a hint of the Latin, a softening of consonants, remained in his tone. Fargo uttered a short sigh of relief. “Clean job, eh?” “All except the big dog. Killed the black one. Wounded the shepherd—think he’ll kick in before morning.” Fargo leaned back in his chair. “Then there’s nothin’ to it. I guess that’ll show ’em, eh, José?” He fell to boasting. “I guess that makes it plain that when I say get out, I mean get out. You know I told that devil this was his last warning—told him myself what would happen to him if he didn’t switch over to us—and I guess he got what he wanted. But I’m sorry you missed the dog. He might keep away a lot of cats and coyotes that would otherwise be busy for the next few days.” “He’s wounded—don’t think he can.” José breathed an oath in his own tongue. “But I don’t see what it’s all about. Crowson had that tract rented——” “You don’t, eh?” Fargo stiffened. “I don’t know it’s necessary that you see what it’s all about. That happens to be my business—and don’t go making any mistake about that. But I’ll explain it a little better. I’ve been told—by the men that own the herds with me—to keep out sheepmen at all cost. That one piece of range that Crowson rented has been worth ten thousand a year to us. Do you think we’re goin’ to let that slip out of our hands for a bunch of measly sheep?” “But why didn’t you have enough sense to rent that tract yourself?” “Because we’re trying to make a clean-up out of this deal, that’s why. Who’d ever dream that old hag would ever find a renter—and as long as we were gettin’ it free, what was the use? We’ve been here a long time—if this flock prospered there’d be more of ’em come in—and where’d be our monopoly of the range then? You know that our policy has always been to squeeze out the little fellow—cattle as well as sheep. We’ve got to set an example with this flock of Crowson’s—and to have ’em all get killed—in a few days—or even part of ’em, is going to discourage any more sheepmen coming into a cattle country. You don’t know cattlemen, José, or you wouldn’t question. Just the same—the job’s only half done. A shepherd dog, wounded or not, ’ll stay to fight to the last inch of hair on his body, especially that big devil of Crowson’s. And he sure can bluff out the coyotes.” José discarded his cigarette, and lit a fresh one. “Well, say what’s to be done,” he said. “I’m not goin’ back after that other dog.”