"It's worth it," he announced, with conviction, "worth a fight to a
finish with whatever weapons come to hand. If I-- By the holy
poker! Sheep! Sheep on the Rancho Palomar! Thousands of them. Look!
Over yonder!"

"How beautiful they look against those green and purple and gold
hillsides!" the girl exclaimed.

"Usually a sheep is not beautiful to a cow-man," he reminded her.
"However, if those sheep belong to Loustalot, they constitute the
fairest sight mine eyes have gazed upon to date."

"And who might he be?"

"That shaggy thief I manhandled a few minutes ago. He's a sheep-man
from the San Carpojo, and for a quarter of a century he has not dared
set foot on the Palomar. Your father, thinking I was dead and that the
ranch would never be redeemed after foreclosure of the mortgage, leased
the grazing-privilege to Loustalot. I do not blame him. I do not
think we have more than five hundred head of cattle on the ranch, and
it would be a shame to waste that fine green feed." Suddenly the sad
and somber mien induced by his recent grief fled his countenance. He
turned to her eagerly. "Miss Parker, if I have any luck worth while
to-day, I think I may win back my ranch."

"I wish you could win it back, Don Mike. I think we all wish it."

"I hope you all do." He laughed joyously. "My dear Miss Parker, this
is the open season on terrible practical jokes. I'm no judge of sheep