"The boss rides up close, and swings his gun over till the opening in
it seems to cover my whole front elevation.

"'Don't you move your hands none,' says he, 'till you and me indulge in
a adequate amount of necessary conversation.'

"'I will not,' says I. 'I am no deaf-mute, and therefore will not have
to disobey your injunctions in replying.'

"'We are on the lookout,' says he, 'for Black Bill, the man that held up
the Katy for $15,000 in May. We are searching the ranches and everybody
on 'em. What is your name, and what do you do on this ranch?'

"'Captain,' says I, 'Percival Saint Clair is my occupation, and my name
is sheep-herder. I've got my flock of veals--no, muttons--penned here
to-night. The shearers are coming to-morrow to give them a haircut--with
baa-a-rum, I suppose.'

"'Where's the boss of this ranch?' the captain of the gang asks me.

"'Wait just a minute, cap'n,' says I. 'Wasn't there a kind of a reward
offered for the capture of this desperate character you have referred
to in your preamble?'

"'There's a thousand dollars reward offered,' says the captain, 'but
it's for his capture and conviction. There don't seem to be no provision
made for an informer.'

"'It looks like it might rain in a day or so,' says I, in a tired way,
looking up at the cerulean blue sky.