Clarence E. Mulford

“ He was of the old school, and would not submit quietly to two things, among others, which an old-school cowman hated—wire fences and sheep. To this he owed his present ride, for he hated wire fences cordially. They meant the passing of the free, open range, of straight trails across country; they meant a great change, an intolerable condition.
"Yessir, bronch! Things are gettin' damnabler every year, with th' railroads, tourists, nesters, barb' wire, an' sheep. ”

“ Youbet began, trying to ignore the tones of the others. They were young men, and he knew that youth grew unduly heated in argument. "I saw th' comin' of th' Texas drive herds, till th' range was crowded where th' year before there was nothin'. I saw th' comin' of th' sheep—an' barb' wire, I 'm sorry to say. Th' sheep came like locusts, leavin' a dyin' range behind 'em. Thin, half-starved cattle showed which way they went. You can't tell me nothin' I don't know about sheep." ”

“ Besides, it was commonly believed by cowmen that sheep destroyed the grass as far as cattle grazing was concerned—and this was the chief reason for the animosity against sheep and their herders, which burned so strongly in the hearts of cattle owners and their outfits.
Youbet drained his glass, and continued: "The coyote leaves th' cattle range for th' same good reason yore sheep leave it—because they are chased out, or killed. Naturally, blood kin will hang together in banishment." ”

“ The four looked at him, befuddled and sorely hurt; but they understood the attitude, if they did not quite grasp the words—and they knew that he meant what he looked. Staggering and hobbling, they finally found the door, and plunged out to the street, to meet the crowd of men who were running toward the building. ”

“ He 's one agin' th' whole town—an' a good old feller, at that," hastily assured the bartender. "It ain't his fault that Waffles buffaloed you fellers out of th' Hills, is it? He 's goin' on early tomorrow; so let him be."
"You 'll get yoreself in trouble, Jimmy, m' boy, if you inserts yoreself in this," warned Towne. "It was us agin' a whole section, an' we got ours. Let him take his, if he talks too much."
"Shore," replied Price. "I heard him shoot off his mouth, an hour ago, an' he 's got altogether too much to say. You mind th' bar an' yore own business, Jimmy. We ain't kids." ”

“ That cow wrastler raised th' devil in th' hotel," Price replied. "Old fool! They brought him mutton, an' he wanted to clean out th' place. Said he 'd as soon eat barb' wire. They 're feedin' him hash an' canned stuff, now."
"He 'll get hurt, if he don't look out," remarked Clayton. "Who is he, anyhow, Price?"
"Don't know his name; but he 's from Arizona, on his way to th' Pecos country. Says he 's a friend of Buck Peters an' Waffles. To use one of his own expressions, he 's a old mosshead." ”

“ That was a' insult, bronch; an' I never swaller 'em. That's what put me an' you out here, in th' middle of nowhere, tryin' to find a way out. G'wan, now! You ain't goin' to rest till I gets off you. G'wan, I told you!"
Mr. Somes was riding east, bound for the Bar-20, where he had friends. For a year or two, he had heard persistent rumors to the effect that Buck Peters had more cows than he knew what to do with; and he argued rightly that the Bar-20 foreman could find a place for an old friend, whose ability was unquestioned. Of one thing he was certain—there were no wire fences, down there. ”

“ He 's a good feller, he is. I 've punched with both him an' Peters."
"I heard he was n't," replied the bartender, slowly but carelessly.
"Then you heard wrong, all right," rejoined Youbet. "He 's one of us old fellers—hates sheep, barb' wire, an' nesters as bad as I do; an' sonny," he continued, warming as he went on. "Th' cow country ain't what it used to be—not no way. ”

“ The bartender lifted a bottle, and replaced it with great care. "Oh, just a ranch foreman, out of a job. He 's a funny old feller."
"So? An' what's so funny about him? Get in there, Towne, if you wants to do any playin' with us."
"Why, he was ordered to build a hundred an' fifty miles of wire fence around his range, an' he jumped ruther than do it."
"Yas—an' most of it government land, I reckon," interposed Towne.
"Pshaw! It's an old game with them," laughed Clayton. "Th' law don't get to them; an' if they 've got a good outfit, nobody has got any chance agin 'em." ”

“ You better get him drunk an' lock him in th' attic, before then."
"G'wan! I ain't playin' guardian to nobody," rejoined the bartender. "But remember what I said—them old fellers can use 'em slick an' rapid."
The sheepman went out as Youbet returned; and the latter seated himself, crossing his legs and drawing out his pipe.
The bartender perfunctorily drew a cloth across the bar, and smiled. "So you don't like wire, sheep, or nesters," he remarked. ”

“ A moment later, Youbet Somes entered, swinging his sombrero energetically to shake off the water.
"Damn th' rain, too, an' this wart of a town. A man can't get nothin' fit to eat for love or money, on a sheep range. Gimme a drink, sonny! Mebby it 'll cut th' taste of that rank tallow out 'n my mouth. Th' reason there is sheep on this earth of our'n is that th' devil chased 'em out 'n his place—an' no blame to him." ”

“ But this year! One day, not very long ago, I got a letter from th' owners, an' it says for me to build a wire fence around our range. It went on to say that there was two carloads of barb' wire at Mesquite. We was to tote that wire home, an' start in. If two carloads was n't enough, they 'd send us more. We had one busted-down grub waggin, an' Mesquite shore was fifty miles away—which meant a whoppin' long job totin'. ”