encircled the man's middle, with a heavy pistol at the right hip, they
seemed to typify the ruggedness of the country, seemed to embody the
spirit of the Wild.

Lawler mounted, and the big bay whistled as he pranced across the
ranchhouse yard to the big corral where the cattle were confined. Lawler
brought the bay to a halt at a corner of the corral fence, where his
foreman, Blackburn, who had been breakfasting in the messhouse, advanced
to meet him, having seen Lawler step down from the gallery.

Blackburn was of medium height, swarthy, with heavy brows under which
were keen, deep-set eyes. His mouth was big, expressive, with a
slightly cynical set in repose.

"We're hittin' the trail in about an hour," said Blackburn. "Are you
wantin' me to put 'em through, or are we takin' two days to it, as
usual?"

"Two days," advised Lawler. "There's no hurry. It's a bad trail in
spots, and they'll want to feed. They'll stand the trip on the cars
better if they've had plenty of grass."

"Gary Warden is keeping Lefingwell's agreement with you, I reckon?"
asked Blackburn. He eyed Lawler intently.

"Of course." Lawler caught the expression of his foreman's eyes, and his
brows drew together. He added: "Why do you ask?"

"Just wonderin'," hesitated Blackburn; "just wonderin'. You seen this
here man, Warden?"