"See here!" they called to Mose, "you turn that stinkin' river of sheep back over the line." Mose shouted a reply: "I'm not the boss; go talk to him.

And, say! you'd better change your tune when you whistle into his ear." "Oh, hell!" said one contemptuously.

"It's that tenderfoot of Pratt's." They rode to the older herder, who laughed at them.

"Settle with the 'old man,'" he said.

"I'm under orders to feed these sheep and I'm goin' to do it." "You take them sheep back on your range or you won't have any to feed," said one of the cowboys.
The herder blew a whiff from his lips as if blowing away thistle down.
"Run away, little ones, you disturb my siesta." With blistering curses on him and his sheep, the cowboys rode to the top of the hill, and there, turning, fired twice at the herder, wounding him in the arm.