Lee Jorth had once been a singularly handsome man. He was tall, but did not have the figure of a horseman. His dark hair was streaked with gray, and was white over his ears. His face was sallow and thin, with deep lines. Under his round, prominent, brown eyes, like deadened furnaces, were blue swollen welts. He had a bitter mouth and weak chin, not wholly concealed by gray mustache and pointed beard. He wore a long frock coat and a wide-brimmed sombrero, both black in color, and so old and stained and frayed that along with the fashion of them they betrayed that they had come from Texas with him. Jorth always persisted in wearing a white linen shirt, likewise a relic of his Southern prosperity, and to-day it was ragged and soiled as usual.
Ellen watched her father eat and waited for him to speak. It occured to her strangely that he never asked about the sheep or the new-born lambs. She divined with a subtle new woman's intuition that he cared nothing for his sheep.
"Ellen, what riled Daggs?" inquired her father, presently. "He shore had fire in his eye."
Long ago Ellen had betrayed an indignity she had suffered at the hands of a man. Her father had nearly killed him. Since then she had taken care to keep her troubles to herself. If her father had not been blind and absorbed in his own brooding he would have seen a thousand things sufficient to inflame his Southern pride and temper.
"Daggs asked me to marry him again and I said he belonged to a bad lot," she replied.
Jorth laughed in scorn. "Fool! My God! Ellen, I must have dragged you low--that every damned ru--er--sheepman--who comes along thinks he can marry you."
At the break in his words, the incompleted meaning, Ellen dropped her eyes. Little things once never noted by her were now come to have a fascinating significance.
"Never mind, dad," she replied. "They cain't marry me."
"Daggs said somebody had been talkin' to you. How aboot that?"
"Old John Sprague has just gotten back from Grass Valley," said Ellen.
"I stopped in to see him. Shore he told me all the village gossip."
"Anythin' to interest me?" he queried, darkly.
"Yes, dad, I'm afraid a good deal," she said, hesitatingly. Then in accordance with a decision Ellen had made she told him of the rumored war between sheepmen and cattlemen; that old Isbel had Blaisdell, Gordon, Fredericks, Blue and other well-known ranchers on his side; that his son Jean Isbel had come from Oregon with a wonderful reputation as fighter and scout and tracker; that it was no secret how Colonel Lee Jorth was at the head of the sheepmen; that a bloody war was sure to come.
"Hah!" exclaimed Jorth, with a stain of red in his sallow cheek.
"Reckon none of that is news to me. I knew all that."
Ellen wondered if he had heard of her meeting with Jean Isbel. If not he would hear as soon as Simm Bruce and Lorenzo came back. She decided to forestall them.
"Dad, I met Jean Isbel. He came into my camp. Asked the way to the Rim.
I showed him. We--we talked a little. And shore were gettin' acquainted when--when he told me who he was. Then I left him--hurried back to camp."
"Colter met Isbel down in the woods," replied Jorth, ponderingly.
"Said he looked like an Indian--a hard an' slippery customer to reckon with."
"Shore I guess I can indorse what Colter said," returned Ellen, dryly.
She could have laughed aloud at her deceit. Still she had not lied.
"How'd this heah young Isbel strike you?" queried her father, suddenly glancing up at her.
Ellen felt the slow, sickening, guilty rise of blood in her face.
She was helpless to stop it. But her father evidently never saw it.
He was looking at her without seeing her.
"He--he struck me as different from men heah," she stammered.
"Did Sprague tell you aboot this half-Indian Isbel--aboot his reputation?"
"Yes."
"Did he look to you like a real woodsman?"
"Indeed he did. He wore buckskin. He stepped quick and soft. He acted at home in the woods. He had eyes black as night and sharp as lightnin'.
They shore saw about all there was to see."
Jorth chewed at his mustache and lost himself in brooding thought.
"Dad, tell me, is there goin' to be a war?" asked Ellen, presently.
What a red, strange, rolling flash blazed in his eyes! His body jerked.
"Shore. You might as well know."
"Between sheepmen and cattlemen?"
"Yes."
"With y'u, dad, at the haid of one faction and Gaston Isbel the other? "
"Daughter, you have it correct, so far as you go."
"Oh! . . . Dad, can't this fight be avoided?"
"You forget you're from Texas," he replied.
"Cain't it be helped?" she repeated, stubbornly.
"No!" he declared, with deep, hoarse passion.
"Why not?"
"Wal, we sheepmen are goin' to run sheep anywhere we like on the range.
An' cattlemen won't stand for that."
"But, dad, it's so foolish," declared Ellen, earnestly. "Y'u sheepmen do not have to run sheep over the cattle range."
"I reckon we do."
"Dad, that argument doesn't go with me. I know the country. For years to come there will be room for both sheep and cattle without overrunnin'.
If some of the range is better in water and grass, then whoever got there first should have it. That shore is only fair. It's common sense, too."
"Ellen, I reckon some cattle people have been prejudicin' you," said Jorth, bitterly.
"Dad!" she cried, hotly.
This had grown to be an ordeal for Jorth. He seemed a victim of contending tides of feeling. Some will or struggle broke within him and the change was manifest. Haggard, shifty-eyed, with wabbling chin, he burst into speech.
"See heah, girl. You listen. There's a clique of ranchers down in the Basin, all those you named, with Isbel at their haid. They have resented sheepmen comin' down into the valley. They want it all to themselves. That's the reason. Shore there's another. All the Isbels are crooked. They're cattle an' horse thieves--have been for years.
Gaston Isbel always was a maverick rustler. He's gettin' old now an' rich, so he wants to cover his tracks. He aims to blame this cattle rustlin' an' horse stealin' on to us sheepmen, an' run us out of the country."
