"That's it." Fargo uttered a short syllable of a laugh. "What luck?"
"I said I'd do it, didn't I, if he didn't come around? Well, I've done it. There's nobody watchin' them sheep to-night." And thus it was to be seen that José had lived long enough among Americans to acquire the vernacular. Only a hint of the Latin, a softening of consonants, remained in his tone.
Fargo uttered a short sigh of relief. "Clean job, eh?"
"All except the big dog. Killed the black one. Wounded the shepherd—think he'll kick in before morning."
Fargo leaned back in his chair. "Then there's nothin' to it. I guess that'll show 'em, eh, José?" He fell to boasting. "I guess that makes it plain that when I say get out, I mean get out. You know I told that devil this was his last warning—told him myself what would happen to him if he didn't switch over to us—and I guess he got what he wanted. But I'm sorry you missed the dog. He might keep away a lot of cats and coyotes that would otherwise be busy for the next few days."
"He's wounded—don't think he can." José breathed an oath in his own tongue. "But I don't see what it's all about. Crowson had that tract rented "
"You don't, eh?" Fargo stiffened. "I don't know it's necessary that you see what it's all
