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Updated: June 13, 2025
"Unfortunately, a man's word is not conclusive proof." "Meaning that Jim Lefingwell was lying when he told you he'd agreed to pay thirty dollars for my stock this fall?" "Oh, no. I don't insinuate against Lefingwell's veracity. But the company requires a written agreement in a case like this where the former representative " "We won't argue that," interrupted Lawler.
We didn't bring no cattle over, for we hadn't made no arrangement with Jim Lefingwell like you done an' we didn't want to stampede Warden." Lawler told them what had occurred in his interview with Warden. "I reckon Warden's the liar, all right," declared Caldwell; "Jim Lefingwell's word was the only contract anyone ever needed with him." He looked keenly at Lawler.
There was a stain in each of her cheeks, but outwardly, at least, she showed none of the excitement that had seized the crowd; her movements were deliberate and there was a resolute set to her lips. She got through, finally, and halted beside the big man, the crowd closing up behind her. She was swallowed in it, lost to sight. "Lift her up, Lefingwell!" suggested a man on the outer fringe.
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.
He stopped at Hanrahan's saloon, finding Lefingwell there and talking with him for a few minutes. Lefingwell's docile attitude disgusted him he said he had talked the matter over with a number of the other owners, and they had expressed themselves as being in favor of awaiting the result of his appeal.
Now what in hell do you think of that?" "I knew Dick Kessler," said Trevison, soberly. "He was honest." "Square as a dollar!" violently affirmed Lefingwell. "It's too bad," sympathized Trevison. "That places you in a mighty bad fix. If there's anything I can do for you, why " "Mr. 'Brand' Trevison?" said a voice at Trevison's elbow.
"Jim Lefingwell told me he'd had a talk with you about my agreement with him, and Jim said you'd carry it out." "Mr. Lefingwell did not mention the matter to me." "I'd hate to think Jim Lefingwell lied to me," said Lawler, slowly. Warden's face grew crimson. "Meaning that I'm a liar, I suppose," he said, his voice quavering with sudden passion. Lawler's level gaze made him stiffen in his chair.
Later, he crossed the basin, followed the well-beaten trail up the slope to the level, and shortly he was in Hanrahan's saloon across the street from Braman's bank, listening to the plaint of Jim Lefingwell, the Circle Cross owner, whose ranch was east of town. Lefingwell was big, florid, and afflicted with perturbation that was almost painful.
From the second story of a brick building that stood on the southern side of the street, facing the station, Gary Warden could look past the red station into the empty corrals beside the railroad track. Jim Lefingwell, Warden's predecessor, had usually smiled when he saw the corral comfortably filled with steers. But Gary Warden smiled because the corral was empty.
"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."
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