“‘He’s three days old,’ says I.
“‘What kind of a looking man is the man you work for?’ he asks. ‘Does old George Ramey own this place yet? He’s run sheep here for the last ten years, but never had no success.’
“‘The old man has sold out and gone West,’ I tells him. ‘Another sheep-fancier bought him out about a month ago.’
“‘What kind of a looking man is he?’ asks the deputy again.
“‘Oh,’ says I, ‘a big, fat kind of a Dutchman with long whiskers and blue specs, I don’t think he knows a sheep from a ground-squirrel. I guess old George soaked him pretty well on the deal,’ says I.
“‘After indulging himself in a lot more non-communicative information and two-thirds of my dinner, the deputy rides away.
“That night I mentions the matter to Ogden.
“‘They’re drawing the tendrils of the octopus around Black Bill,’ says I. And then I told him about the deputy sheriff, and how I’d described him to the deputy, and what the deputy said about the matter.
“‘Oh, well,’ says Ogden, ‘let’s don’t borrow any of Black Bill’s troubles. We’ve a few of our own. Get the Bourbon out of the cupboard
