an' the boys'll hit the breeze to town an' run Warden and Simmons
out!

"You're wastin' your time, goin' to see Morgan Hatfield, the
commissioner. Don't I know him? He tin-horned over at Laskar for two or
three years before he got into politics; an' now he's tin-hornin' the
cattle owners of the state. He'll grin that chessie-cat grin of his an'
tell you he can't do nothin'. An' he'll do it! Bah! This country is
goin' plumb to hell. Any country will, when there's too much law hangin'
around loose!"

He scowled and looked hard at Lawler. "We'll hold 'em at Willets, all
right an' regular, until you give us the word to hit the Tom Long trail.
But while you're gone I'm gettin' ready to travel--for there won't be
any cars, Lawler, an' don't you forget it!"

Lawler said nothing in reply to Blackburn's vitriolic speech. So
unperturbed did he seem that Blackburn remarked to one of the men--after
Lawler wrapped himself in a blanket and stretched out near the
fire--that, "the more Lawler's got on his mind the less he talks."

Long before dawn Lawler saddled up and departed. When Blackburn awoke
and rubbed his eyes, he cast an eloquent glance at the spot where Lawler
had lain, grinned crookedly and remarked to the world at large: "Anyway,
we're backin' his play to the limit--an' don't you forget it!"

Lawler left Red King at the stable from which, the day before, Gary
Warden had ridden on his way to the Hamlin cabin; and when the
west-bound train steamed in he got aboard, waving a hand to the friends
who, the day before in the Willets Hotel had selected him as their
spokesman.

It was afternoon when Lawler stepped from the train in the capital. He
strode across the paved floor of the train shed, through a wide iron
gate and into a barber-shop that adjoined the waiting-room.

There he gave himself to the care of a barber who addressed him as Mr.
Lawler in a voice of respect.

"I've shaved you before, Mr. Lawler," said the man. "I think it was when
you was down here last year, to the convention. I heard the speech you
made that time, nominating York Falkner for governor. Too bad you didn't
run yourself. You'd have made it, saving the state from the tree-toad
which is hanging to it now."

During his short stay at the Circle L the night before, Lawler had
changed from his cowboy rigging to a black suit of civilian cut, with
tight trousers that were stuffed into the tops of soft boots of dull
leather. The coat was long, afte