k town, hasn't it--since the last state
convention--eh?"

There was a hint of laughter in his voice, a suggestion of mockery in
the unspoken inference that he remembered the defeat of Lawler's
candidate.

Lawler smiled. "Well, you did beat us, that's a fact, Hatfield. There's
no use denying that. But we took our medicine, Hatfield."

"You had to," grinned the other. "Whenever the people of a state----"

"Hatfield," interrupted Lawler, gravely, "it seems to me that the people
of this state are always taking medicine--political medicine. That's
what I have come to talk with you about."

Hatfield's smile faded. His eyes gleamed coldly.

"What's wrong, Lawler?"

"It's cars, Hatfield--or rather no cars," he added, grimly. "Usually, at
this season of the year, there will be a hundred or two empty cars on
the siding at Willets--with other hundreds on the way. This year the
siding is empty, and Jay Simmons says there are no cars to be had. He
tells me there isn't an empty car in the state. Caldwell, of the Star,
and Barthman, Littlefield, Corts, Sigmund, and Lester--who are ranch
owners near Willets--told me to come down here and ask you what can be
done. I'm asking you."

Hatfield eyed Lawler steadily as the latter talked; his gaze did not
waver as Lawler concluded. But a slight stain appeared in his cheeks,
which instantly receded, leaving them normal again. But that slight
flush betrayed Hatfield to Lawler; it told Lawler that Hatfield knew why
there were no cars. And Lawler's eyes chilled as his gaze met
Hatfield's.

"I've talked that matter over with the railroad people several times,"
said Hatfield, in an impersonal, snapping voice. "They tell me that you
cattle owners are to blame. You seem to think that it is the business of
the railroad company to guess how many cars you will want. You wait
until the round-up is over before you begin to think about cars, and
then you want them all in a bunch."

"You are mistaken, Hatfield. Along about the middle of the season every
prudent cattle owner arranges with a buyer or with the railroad company
for the necessary cars. In my case, I made arrangements with Jim
Lefingwell, the buyer at Willets, as long ago as last spring. But
Lefingwell isn't buyer any more, and Gary Warden, the present buyer,
refuses to recognize my agreement with Lefingwell."

"A written agreement?"

"Unfortunately not. Lefingwell's word was always good."

Hatfield's smile was very near a sneer.