The world is full of hatred in a thousand forms but there is none more bitter than that between two men who have seen a former friendship turn to gall and wormwood. So bitter was the enmity between Upton and Old Crit that it needed but the time and occasion to break out into a war. Short, freckle-faced, and red-headed, with a week's growth of stubby beard and a clear green eye, John Upton was not a man that one would pick for an enemy, and the single swift move that he made toward his pistol expressed his general sentiments plainer than any words. As for Crittenden, his emotions were too badly mixed to lead to action, but the one-eyed glare which he conferred upon his cow-stealing rival convinced Boone Morgan at a glance that Old Crit was dangerous. "I'd like to have a word with you, Mr. Crittenden," he said, taking command on the instant, "and since Mr. Upton is interested in this matter I have asked him to come along down. We won't discuss the business I have in hand until we get to town, but now that I've got you two gentlemen together I'd like to ask you to be a little more careful about your branding. My deputies reported to me that on the last round-up calves were found bearing a different iron from their mothers and that mavericks were branded on sight, anywhere on the open range. The law provides, as you know, that no cow-brute can be branded anywhere except in a corral or at a round-up and no man has the right to brand any maverick, _orejano_, leppy, or sleeper except in the presence and with the consent of witnesses. There have been certain irregularities up here in the past, as is to be expected in a new country, but I want to tell you right now that in the future I'm going to hold you cowmen to the law. I was elected and sworn in to uphold the peace and dignity of Geronimo County, so if you have any little feuds or differences to work off, I'll thank you to do it outside my jurisdiction." He paused, and as they rode down the broad trail that merged into Verde's main street the rival cattle kings exchanged malignant glances behind his broad and soldierly back. But the sheriff's eyes were to the fore and at sight of Pecos Dalhart's horse tied to the ground in front of the store he chuckled to himself. "Well, well," he said, reaching down into his inside vest pocket, "I'm just in time to deliver these papers—or am I mistaken in thinking that that hoss yonder belongs to Mr. Dalhart?" He glanced across at Crittenden, who shrugged his shoulders and scowled. "Quite correct, eh? Well, then, if you gentlemen will excuse me for a moment I'll go in and see Mr. Dalhart."