Lawler stiffened, looked from Jordan to Warden, and then back again at Jordan, who had taken up the pencil again and was nervously tapping with it upon the desk top. "Not venting trail herds, eh?" said Lawler. "Whose orders?" "The state inspector--headquarters," replied Jordan, hesitatingly. "Would you mind letting me see the order, Jordan?" asked Lawler, calmly. Jordan succeeded in looking up at Lawler now, and there was rage in his eyes--rage and offended dignity. Both were artificial--Lawler knew it. And his smile as he looked into Jordan's eyes told the other of the knowledge. Jordan got up, stung by the mockery in Lawler's eyes. "Hell's fire, Lawler!" cursed Jordan; "can't you take a man's word?" He stepped back, viciously pulled open a drawer in the desk, drew out a paper--a yellow telegraph form, and slapped it venomously down on the desk in front of Lawler. "It's ag'in' orders, but I'm lettin' you see it. Mebbe you'll take a man's word after this!" he sneered. Lawler read the order. Then he calmly placed it on the desk. He looked at Jordan, whose gaze fell from his; he turned to Warden, who smiled jeeringly. "There is nothing like thoroughness, whenever you do anything on a big scale, Warden," he said. "This order forces cattle owners in this section to drive cattle over a trail without proof of ownership. We fought for that vent law for a good many years, as a weapon against rustlers. This order leaves a cattle owner without protection against the horde of rustlers who infest the state. And the order is dated yesterday. This thing begins to look interesting." He turned and walked out, not glancing back at the two men inside, who stood for a long time looking at each other, smiling. CHAPTER XI THE LONG TRAIL After leaving Jordan and Warden, Lawler walked across the railroad tracks and entered the station, where he sent a telegram to Keppler, the buyer at Red Rock. Then he drew a chair over near the door and sat down to await an answer. At the end of an hour the agent walked over to Lawler and gave him the reply. It was from Keppler, saying that he would be glad to buy all of the Circle L cattle at thirty dollars a head. Lawler stuck the telegram in a pocket and went out, mounting Red King and riding through Willets. Darkness had come, and there were few persons on the street, and Lawler did not stop. A little later he was talking with Blackburn at the camp fire, his voice low and earnest. Blackburn's face was seamed with wrath over the news Lawler had communicated. "So that's the polecat scheme they're runnin'!" he said, hoarsely. "I reckon they know that between here an' Red Rock there's a dozen big gangs of buzzards which make a business of grabbin' cattle from every herd that hits the Tom Long trail!" "Blackburn," said Lawler gravely; "do you know of any other trail?" "No; nor you don't neither!" declared the range boss. "What you meanin'?" he added, peering intently at Lawler.