Massed in the big valley--at a distance of two or three miles from the big ranchhouse, was a herd of cattle. Circling them were a number of cowboys on horses. In the huge corral that spanned a shallow, narrow river, were other cattle. These were the result of the fall--or beef--round-up. For a month there had been intense activity in the section. Half the cattlemen in the county had participated in the round-up that had centered upon Lawler's range, the Circle L: and the cattle had been herded down in the valley because of its natural advantages. There the herd had been held while the neighboring cattlemen engaged in the tedious task of "cutting out"--which meant that each cattle owner took from the herd the steers that bore his "brand," with the addition of a proportionate number of unbranded steers, and calves, designated as "mavericks." Then the neighboring outfit had driven their stock home. "It was a big round-up, Kane," said Mrs. Lawler, watching the herd. "Eight thousand head," Lawler replied. "We're starting a thousand toward Willets today." "Have you seen Gary Warden? I mean, have you arranged with Warden to have him take the cattle?" Lawler smiled. "I had an agreement with Jim Lefingwell. We made it early last spring." "A written agreement?" "Shucks--no. I never had a written agreement with Lefingwell. Never had to. Jim's word was all I ever wanted from him--all I ever asked for." "But perhaps Gary Warden's business methods are different?" "I talked that over with Lefingwell when he sold out to Warden. Jim said he'd already mentioned our agreement to Warden and that Warden had agreed to carry it out." "But suppose Warden has changed his mind?" Lawler spoke seriously. "No man goes back on his word in this country. But from what I've heard of Warden, he's likely to. If he does, we'll drive the stock to Keppler, at Red Rock. Keppler isn't buying for the same concern, but he'll pay what Lefingwell agreed to pay. We'll ship them, don't worry." "Red Rock means a five hundred mile drive, Kane." Lawler replied, "You're anticipating, Mother. Warden will take them." Lawler grinned and stepped off the gallery. A few minutes later he emerged from the stable carrying a saddle, which he flung over one of the top rails of the corral fence. He roped a big, red bay, smooth, with a glossy coat that shone like a flame in the clear white light of the morning sun. The bay was built on heroic lines. He was tall and rangy, and the spirit of a long line of thoroughbred ancestors was in him. It showed in the clear white of his gleaming, indomitable eyes, in his thin, sensitive nostrils and long, shapely muzzle; in the contour of his head and chest, and in his slender, sinewy legs.