“That’s all right.  You’ve probably caught the habit from me.  I’m simply going out to look about for excitement.”

“A feller gener’ly finds what he’s lookin’ for.  Maybe you won’t be disappointed.  I’ve knowed places on the range where excitement growed like fruit on a tree.  It was like that there manna in the Bible.  You didn’t have to work none for it.  You jest laid still an’ it sort of dropped in your mouth.”

He added with a sigh:  “But them times ain’t no more.”

“That’s hard on me, eh?”

“Don’t start complainin’ till you miss your feed.  Things are gettin’ pretty crowded, but there’s ways of gettin’ elbow room—­even at a bar.”

“And you really think there’s nothing which distinguishes the Westerner from the Easterner?”

“Just the Western feeling, partner.  Get that an’ you’ll be at home.”

“If you were a little further East and said that, people might be inclined to smile a bit.”

“Partner, if they did, they wouldn’t finish their smile.  But I heard a feller say once that the funny thing about men east and west of the Rockies was that they was all—­”

He paused as if trying to remember.

“Well?”

“Americans, Mr. Bard.”

CHAPTER IX

“This place for rest”

As the white heat of midday passed and the shadows lengthened more and more rapidly to the east, the sheep moved out from the shade and from the tangle of the brush to feed in the open, and the dogs, which had laid one on either side of the man, rose and trotted out to recommence their vigil; but the shepherd did not change his position where he sat cross-legged under the tree.

Alternately he stroked the drooping moustache to the right and then to the left, with a little twist each time, which turned the hair to a sharp point in its furthest downward reach near his chin.  To the right, to the left, to the right, to the left, while his eyes, sad with a perpetual mist, looked over the lake and far away to the white tops of the Little Brothers, now growing blue with shadow.

Finally with a brown forefinger he lifted the brush of moustache on his upper lip, leaned a little, and spat.  After that he leaned back with a sigh of content; the brown juice had struck fairly and squarely on the centre of the little stone which for the past two hours he had been endeavouring vainly to hit.  The wind had been against him.

All was well.  The spindling tops of the second-growth forest pointed against the pale blue of a stainless sky, and through that clear air the blatting of the most distant sheep sounded close, mingled with the light clangour of the bells.  But the perfect peace was broken rudely now by the form of a horseman looming black and large against the eastern sky.  He trotted his horse down the slope, scattered a group of noisy sheep from side to side before him, and drew rein before the shepherd.