they had given him fair warning in naming the Concho as the line of
demarcation. He, in turn, considered that his right to graze his sheep
on any part or all of the free range had not been circumscribed.

His neighbor--if cattle-men and sheep-men may under any circumstances
be termed neighbors--was John Corliss. The Corliss rancho was just
across the river opposite the Loring homestead. After the death of
their parents the Corliss boys, John and his younger brother Will, had
been constant visitors at the sheep-man's home, both of them enjoying
the vivacious companionship of Eleanor Loring, and each, in his way, in
love with the girl. Eventually the younger brother disappeared without
any apparent reason. Then it was that John Corliss's visits to the
Loring rancho became less frequent and the friendliness which had
existed between the rival ranches became a kind of tolerant
acquaintanceship, as that of neighbors who have nothing in common save
the back fence.


Fernando, the oldest herder in Loring's employ, stood shading his eyes
from the glare of noon as he gazed toward the distant rancho. His son
was with the flock and the old man had just risen from preparing the
noon meal. "The Señorita," he murmured, and his swart features were
lighted by a wrinkled smile. He stepped to his tent, whipped a gay
bandanna from his blankets and knotted it about his lean throat. Then
he took off his hat, gazing at it speculatively. It was beyond
reconstruction as to definite shape, so he tossed it to the ground, ran
his fingers through his silver-streaked hair, and stepped out to await
his Señorita's arrival.

The sunlight flashed on silver spur and bit as the black-and-white