"Who's this man Greaves?" went on Jean. "Never run into anyone like him."
"Greaves is hard to figure. He's a snaky customer in deals. But he seems to be good to the poor people 'round heah. Says he's from Missouri. Ha-ha! He's as much Texan as I am. He rode into the Tonto without even a pack to his name. An' presently he builds his stone house an' freights supplies in from Phoenix. Appears to buy an' sell a good deal of stock. For a while it looked like he was steerin' a middle course between cattlemen an' sheepmen. Both sides made a rendezvous of his store, where he heard the grievances of each.
Laterly he's leanin' to the sheepmen. Nobody has accused him of that yet. But it's time some cattleman called his bluff."
"Of course there are honest an' square sheepmen in the Basin?" queried Jean.
"Yes, an' some of them are not unreasonable. But the new fellows that dropped in on us the last few year--they're the ones we're goin' to clash with."
"This--sheepman, Jorth?" went on Jean, in slow hesitation, as if compelled to ask what he would rather not learn.
"Jorth must be the leader of this sheep faction that's harryin' us ranchers. He doesn't make threats or roar around like some of them.
But he goes on raisin' an' buyin' more an' more sheep. An' his herders have been grazin' down all around us this winter. Jorth's got to be reckoned with."
"Who is he?"
"Wal, I don't know enough to talk aboot. Your dad never said so, but I think he an' Jorth knew each other in Texas years ago. I never saw Jorth but once. That was in Greaves's barroom. Your dad an' Jorth met that day for the first time in this country. Wal, I've not known men for nothin'. They just stood stiff an' looked at each other.
Your dad was aboot to draw. But Jorth made no sign to throw a gun.
Jean saw the growing and weaving and thickening threads of a tangle that had already involved him. And the sudden pang of regret he sustained was not wholly because of sympathies with his own people.
"The other day back up in the woods on the Rim I ran into a sheepman who said his name was Colter. Who is he?
"Colter? Shore he's a new one. What'd he look like? "
Jean described Colter with a readiness that spoke volumes for the vividness of his impressions.
"I don't know him," replied Blaisdell. "But that only goes to prove my contention--any fellow runnin' wild in the woods can say he's a sheepman."
"Colter surprised me by callin' me by my name," continued Jean.
"Our little talk wasn't exactly friendly. He said a lot about my bein' sent for to run sheep herders out of the country."
"Shore that's all over," replied Blaisdell, seriously. "You're a marked man already."
"What started such rumor?"
"Shore you cain't prove it by me. But it's not taken as rumor.
It's got to the sheepmen as hard as bullets."
"Ahuh! That accunts for Colter's seemin' a little sore under the collar. Well, he said they were goin' to run sheep over Grass Valley, an' for me to take that hunch to my dad."
Blaisdell had his chair tilted back and his heavy boots against a post of the porch. Down he thumped. His neck corded with a sudden rush of blood and his eyes changed to blue fire.
"The hell he did!" he ejaculated, in furious amaze.
Jean gauged the brooding, rankling hurt of this old cattleman by his sudden break from the cool, easy Texan manner. Blaisdell cursed under his breath, swung his arms violently, as if to throw a last doubt or hope aside, and then relapsed to his former state. He laid a brown hand on Jean's knee.
"Two years ago I called the cards," he said, quietly. "It means a Grass Valley war."
Not until late that afternoon did Jean's father broach the subject uppermost in his mind. Then at an opportune moment he drew Jean away into the cedars out of sight.
"Son, I shore hate to make your home-comin' unhappy," he said, with evidence of agitation, "but so help me God I have to do it!"
"Dad, you called me Prodigal, an' I reckon you were right. I've shirked my duty to you. I'm ready now to make up for it," replied Jean, feelingly.
"Wal, wal, shore thats fine-spoken, my boy. . . . Let's set down heah an' have a long talk. First off, what did Jim Blaisdell tell you?"
Briefly Jean outlined the neighbor rancher's conversation. Then Jean recounted his experience with Colter and concluded with Blaisdell's reception of the sheepman's threat. If Jean expected to see his father rise up like a lion in his wrath he made a huge mistake. This news of Colter and his talk never struck even a spark from Gaston Isbel.
"Wal," he began, thoughtfully, "reckon there are only two points in Jim's talk I need touch on. There's shore goin' to be a Grass Valley war. An' Jim's idea of the cause of it seems to be pretty much the same as that of all the other cattlemen. It 'll go down a black blot on the history page of the Tonto Basin as a war between rival sheepmen an' cattlemen. Same old fight over water an' grass! . . . Jean, my son, that is wrong. It 'll not be a war between sheepmen an' cattlemen.
But a war of honest ranchers against rustlers maskin' as sheep-raisers!
. . Mind you, I don't belittle the trouble between sheepmen an' cattlemen in Arizona. It's real an' it's vital an' it's serious.
It 'll take law an' order to straighten out the grazin' question.
Some day the government will keep sheep off of cattle ranges. . . .
So get things right in your mind, my son. You can trust your dad to tell the absolute truth. In this fight that 'll wipe out some of the Isbels--maybe all of them--you're on the side of justice an' right.
Knowin' that, a man can fight a hundred times harder than he who knows he is a liar an' a thief."
The old rancher wiped his perspiring face and breathed slowly and deeply. Jean sensed in him the rise of a tremendous emotional strain.
Wonderingly he watched the keen lined face. More than material worries were at the root of brooding, mounting thoughts in his father's eyes.
"Now next take what Jim said aboot your comin' to chase these sheep-herders out of the valley. . . . Jean, I started that talk.