He hinted at the possibility of internecine
strife eventually awakening the cupidity of "land-sharks" all over the
country. If there was land worth killing folks for, there was land
worth stealing. If the Concho Valley was once thrown open to
homesteaders, then farewell free range and fat cattle and sheep. And
the mention of sheep led him to remark that there was a small band at
the water-hole, uncared-for save by himself. "And he was no sheep-man,
but he sure hated to see any critters sufferin' for water, so he had
allowed the sheep to drink at the water-hole." Then he paused,
anticipating the obvious question to which he made answer: "Yes. The
water-hole ranch is me ranch. I filed on her the same day that you and
Miss Loring come to Usher. Incondescent to that I was in the calaboose
at Antelope. Somebody tole the sheriff that I was a suspicious
character. Mebby I am, judgin' from the outside, but inside I ain't.
You can't always tell what the works is like by the case, I ain't got
no hard feelin's for nobody, and I'm wishful that folks don't have no
hard feelin's ag'in' me or anybody else.
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