but I have to keep him somewhere while I'm looking up his assets."

"But he may sue you for false imprisonment, kidnapping, or--or
something."

"Yes; and I imagine he'd get a judgment against me. But what good
would that do him? I haven't any assets."

"But you're going to acquire some rather soon, are you not?"

"I'll give all my money to my friend, Father Dominic, to do with as he
sees fit. He'll see fit to loan it all back to me."

"But can you hide ten thousand sheep?"

"If that fellow tries to levy on my sheep, I'll about murder him,"
Farrel declared. "But we're crossing our bridges before we come to
them."

"So we are, Don Mike. Tell me all about this ancient feud with André
Loustalot."

"Certainly. Twenty-five-odd years ago, this county was pestered by a
gang of petty cow-thieves. They'd run lots of from ten to twenty fat
steers off the range at a time, slaughter them in El Toro, and bury the
hides to conceal the identity of the animals--the brands, you
understand. The meat they would peddle to butchers in towns along the
railroad line. The ringleader owned a slaughter-house in El Toro, and,
for a long time, nobody suspected him--the cattle were driven in at
night. Well, my father grew weary of this form of old-fashioned