A crimson stain appeared in Warden's cheeks as his thoughts reverted to Lawler's return to Willets, after disposing of his cattle to the Red Rock buyer. And Warden's shoulders sagged a little, the smile faded and he glared malignantly at the bleak, gray clouds that sailed over town on the chill, bitter wind. Oddly, at the instant Warden's memory was dwelling upon the incident of Lawler's return to Willets, Lafe Corwin, the storekeeper, was mentally reviewing the incident. Willets was a cow-town, and for the winter its activity was over. All the beef cattle in the section, with the exception of three thousand head still held by Lawler, at the Circle L, had been shipped eastward, and Willets would now descend to supine indifference to considerations of gain. Lafe Corwin was tilted back in a big wooden chair near the big, roaring-hot stove in the lounging-room of the Willets Hotel. His clerk could attend to the store. Until spring came, Corwin would spend much of his leisure near the big stove in the hotel, talking politics and cattle--two subjects of paramount importance. But just at this instant Corwin was thinking of Lawler's return to Willets. Little wrinkles gathered around his eyes--which were twinkling; and he chuckled lowly as his gaze roved from one to the other of the men who, like himself, were enjoying the warmth of the stove and listening, between words, to the howling and moaning of the wind. Three or four times, during silences, Corwin chuckled. And when at last he saw Dave Rankin, the blacksmith, watching him curiously, he guffawed aloud, rubbing his hands gleefully. "I don't reckon I ever seen no mournfuller sight than that!" he declared. "Meanin' which?" asked the blacksmith, his eyes alight with truculent inquiry. The others sat erect, attentive. "Meanin' that mornin' when Kane Lawler hopped off the train with his bunch of cowhands--an' Blondy Antrim," snickered Corwin. "Dave Singleton an' Gary Warden an' Jordan an' Simmons an' that pony-built girl which is stayin' over to the Two Diamond with that ossified woman she calls 'Aunt Hannah,' was on the platform waitin' for the six o'clock train from the east. It appears that pony-built--Della Wharton, her name is--was expectin' some gimcracks, an' Warden an' her was waitin' for them. Anyways, they was there. It sure was medium mournful!" declared Corwin. He appeared to hesitate; and Rankin grinned. "We've heard it before; but I reckon we can stand listenin' ag'in. Tell it, Corwin." "As I was sayin' when you interrupted me--it was medium mournful," resumed Corwin. "Shorty--who was with Lawler on the drive--has told me since; but at that time I didn't know--that Jordan had refused to vent Lawler's cattle. "Well, I'd come down to see the train come in, too. We was all standin' there when she come a-steamin' up, an' stopped. An' who clumb off but Lawler an' his trail crew--twenty-three of 'em. An' Blondy Antrim in the midst of 'em, lookin' like a sheep-killin' dog.