had t' turn 'em into the Rockin' R field last night, t' git water an' feed.
Red Willow's gone dry outside dat field. They ain't--nothings. They'll die!"

Eagle Creek looked at him dully. For the first time in his life he faced
utter ruin. "Damn 'em, let 'em die, then!" he said.

"That's what they'll sure do," Wooden Shoes reiterated stubbornly. "If they
don't git feed and water now, yuh needn't start no round-up next spring."

Pink's eyes went down over the close-huddled backs and the thicket of
polished horns, and his eyelids stung. Would all of them die, he wondered!
Four thousand! He hoped not. There must be some way out. Down the hill, he
knew the cowboys were making cigarettes while they waited and wondered
mightily what it was all about If they only knew, he thought, there would be
more than one rope ready for Harry Conroy.

"How about the Peck reservation? Couldn't you get them on there?" Rowdy
ventured.

"Not a hoof!" growled Eagle Creek, with his chin sunk against his chest.
"There's thirty thousand Valley County cattle on there now." He looked down
at the cattle, as Pink had done. "God! It's bad enough t' go broke," he
groaned; "but t' think uh them poor brutes dyin' off in bunches, for want uh
grass an' water! I've run that brand fer over thirty year."



CHAPTER 11

Rowdy Promoted.