t fall. You'll
not escape so easily next time!"

Late that night Lawler got off the train at Willets; and a few minutes
later he was talking with Caldwell and the others in the Willets Hotel.

"It's a frame-up, men," he told them. "Hatfield and the governor both
subscribe to the same sentiments, which are to the effect that this is a
free country--meaning that if you don't care to accept what the buyers
offer you can drive your cattle out of the state or let them starve to
death on the open range."

The big hanging-lamp swinging from the ceiling of the lounging-room
flickered a dull light into the faces of the men, revealing lines that
had not been in them some hours before. Somehow, it had seemed to them,
Lawler would straighten things out for them; they had faith in Lawler;
they had trusted in his energy and in his mental keenness. And when they
had sent him to the capital they had thought that the governor would not
dare to refuse his request. He was too great a man to be trifled with.

It was plain to them, now, that the invisible power which they had
challenged was a gigantic thing--for it had not been impressed by their
champion.

Their faces betrayed their disappointment; in their downcast eyes and in
their furtive glances at one another--and at Lawler--one might have read
evidence of doubt and uncertainty. They might fight the powerful forces
opposed to them--and there was no doubt that futile rage against the
power surged in the veins of every man in the group about Lawler. But
there seemed to be no way to fight; there seemed to be nothing tangible
upon which to build a hope, and no way to attack the secret, subtle
force which had so arrogantly thwarted them.

There was an uneasy light in Caldwell's eyes when he finally looked up
at Lawler. He frowned, reddened, and spoke haltingly, as though ashamed:

"Lawler, I reckon they've got us foul. It's late--today's the
twenty-eighth of October. Not anticipatin' this deal, we delayed the
round-up too long. It's a month's drive to Red Rock, over the worst
trail in the country. We all know that. If we'd happen to run into a
storm on the Tom Long trail we wouldn't get no cattle to Red Rock at
all. An' if we winter them on the open range there wouldn't be a sound
hoof left by spring, for we've got no feed put by. It's too certain,
men; an' a bad year would bust me wide open. I reckon I'll sell my stock
to Gary Warden. I hate it like poison, but I reckon it's the on