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"Wal, wal, shore thats fine-spoken,talk First off, what did Jihbor 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 e mistake This news of Colter and his talk never struck even a spark frohtfully, "reckon there are only two points in Jioin' to be a Grass Valley war An' Jim's idea of the cause of it seems to be pretty o down a black blot on the history page of the Tonto Basin as a war between rival sheeprass!Jean,It 'll not be a war between sheepainst 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 Soes 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--ht Knowin' that, a ht 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 hily he watched the keen lined face More than hts 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 I had reaser sheep-herders an' I know the respect Texans have for a gune, ravin' aboot a favorite son But they are people who hate me an' are afraid True, son, I talked with a purpose, but shore I was hty cold an' steady when I did it My feelin' was that you'd do what I'd do if I were thirty years younger No, I reckoned you'd do ured on your blood Jean, you're Indian, an' Texas an' French, an' you've trained yourself in the Oregon woods When you were only a boy, few marksmen I ever knew could beat you, an' I never saw your equal for eye an' ear, for trackin' a hoss, for all the gifts that make a woodsman Wal, rememberin' this an' seein' the trouble ahaid for the Isbels, I just broke out whenever I had a chance I bragged before men I'd reason to believe would take o I missed soht, I shore talked loud His barroom was full of men an' some of them were in my black book Greaves took ht aboot so us, but ain't they jest as liable to be some of your friends or relatives as Ted Meeker's or mine or any one around heah?' That here Greaves an' me fell out I yelled at him: 'No, by God, they're not! My record heah an' that of my people is open The least I can say for you, Greaves, an' your crowd, is that your records fade away on dim trails' Then he said, nasty-like, 'Wal, if you could work out all the dim trails in the Tonto you'd shore be surprised' An' then I roared Shore that was the chance I was lookin' for I swore the trails he hinted of would be tracked to the holes of the rustlers who ot heah these slippery, mysterious thieves, whoever they were, would shore have hell to pay Greaves said he hoped so, but he was afraid I was partial to ot between us When I was leavin' I took a partin' fling at hiht to know the Isbels, considerin' you're froot reasons for throwin' taunts at ot Indian in him an' that 'll be the worse for the men ill have to meet him I'm tellin' you, Greaves, Jean Isbel is the black sheep of the family If you ride down his record you'll find he's shore in line to be another Poggin, or Reddy Kingfisher, or Hardin', or any of the Texas gunht to reht heah that oin' to track down!'"