At the end of an hour the basalt gorge opened out to a wide steep slope
of talus on which grew in clumps the first sage brush of the desert.
Here California John called a halt. The line of the Reserve, unmarked as
yet save by landmarks and rare rough "monuments" of loose stones, lay
but just beyond.
"This is as far as we go," he told the chief herder.
The Frenchman flashed his teeth, and bowed with some courtesy. "Au
revoi'," said he.
"Hold on," repeated California John, "I said this is as far as we go.
That means you, too; and your men."
"But th' ship!" cried the chief herder.
"My rangers will put them off the Reserve, according to regulation,"
stated California John.
The Frenchman stared at him.
"W'at you do?" he gasped at last. "Where we go?"
"I'm going to put you off the Reserve, too, but on the west side," said
California John. The old man's figure straightened in his saddle, and
his hand dropped to the worn and shiny butt of his weapon: "No; none of
that! Take your hand off your gun! I got the right to use _necessary_
force; and, by God, I'll do it!"
The herder began a voluble discourse of mingled protestations and
exposition.
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