"Meanin'?" queried Lin Sherwood, the foreman, a tall, wiry man of about forty years, whose broad, sloping shoulders suggested great strength. His face was frank and kindly, and his steel-blue eyes twinkled from their frames of wrinkles in a manner to win Johnny the moment he had looked into them. "I'm meanin' that old man with th' busted laig, over on th SV," answered Johnny; "an' that kid, an' that helpless girl. Do you know they ain't had no round-up in three years, neither calf nor beef?" "What's that?" exclaimed Cimarron in surprise. "That ain't no way to run a ranch. Ain't they done no brandin' at all?" "Ain't had an iron hot in three years," replied Johnny. "What's th' matter with 'em?" demanded Matt Webb. "They can't keep an outfit," answered Johnny. "Every time they hired a man he was either scared off or bribed to quit. After a while they gave it up. Three of their men are workin' on th' Triangle, or th' Bar H right now." "Then they didn't lose a whole lot," snorted Art French. "If they don't round up, how do they know where they are?" asked Bud Norris. "How do they know how many cows they got, or if they're runnin' at a profit or a loss?" "They don't," answered Johnny. "But there ain't no round-up necessary to tell 'em about profit an' loss. They can see th' herds shrinkin', it's so plain; an' when they has to sell off a few head every time they needs chuck, I reckon they know about th' profit an' loss. They want to have a round-up just to get a tally of th' cattle now on th' ranch. Knowing how many there was from th' tally th' year they took possession, they could tell what their losses are. But how can they hold one, without punchers?" "They ought to know," said Slim. "But that wouldn't help 'em much, at that. It would only make 'em feel worse, I reckon." "Their herds ain't got no business to shrink, not on a range like theirs," said Bud. "If they ain't throwed many on th' trail they ought to have more now than they had three years ago. Cattle don't stop multiplyin' just because they ain't rounded up once in a while!" "Mebby their cattle are different, then," said Johnny. "An' there's one thing shore: I never saw so few mavericks on any ranch as there are on th' SV; nor so d--d many as I saw on th' Bar H. Why, when I was on th' Bar-20, down in th' Pecos Valley, we wouldn't 'a' let no ranch close to us hold so many unbranded cows." "Where did you say?" quickly demanded Bill Dusenberry, who answered to the name of "Deuce." "Bar-20," replied Johnny, "down in th' Pecos." "Did you ever hear of Lacey?" excitedly asked Deuce. "Lacey? Why, he run a saloon, over in Perry's Bend; an' he was a white man clean through." "Holy mackerel!" cried Deuce. "Was you one of Peter's outfit?" "I was near since I was old enough to throw a rope," answered Johnny, a pleased grin coming to his face. "Did you know Lacey, or Buck?"