“Lawler, I watched ’em.  I seen ’em cross the river, still headin’ west, easin’ off a little to the south.  They was above me, an’ they was a glow in the north, behind ’em—­an’ they stood out plain an’ clear.  An’ so did the men that was with ’em, drivin’.

“Lawler, they was more’n fifty men drivin’ them cattle—­mebbe five hundred head.  An’ they had three wagons, an’ a remuda with about a hundred head in it!

“They was takin’ their time.  I rode back a ways, an’ then got off my horse an’ sneaked up close to the shallow.  An’ I seen all the men, clear.  I waited until they got a good start, an’ then I trailed ’em.  They brought up at the Rabbit Ear, at that old house of Rud Dickman’s—­who cashed in three or four years ago, leavin’ nobody behind him.”

Lawler nodded.  He knew the place.  Dickman had been a nester, and since his death no one had occupied the house, and no one had come to claim his land.

“Well?” said Lawler, as Hamlin paused.

“Lawler,” said Hamlin, gravely; “there’s goin’ to be hell to pay in this section.  Them men turned their cattle into the grass around there, an’ put a night guard over them.  They emptied their wagons and toted the stuff into the house.  They fixed up the corral fence an’ turned their horses into it.  They brought lamps an’ stoves for the bunkhouse an’ the cabin—­an’ bunk stuff an’ tables an’ such.  They’re figurin’ to stay there.  An’, Lawler—­they’re Blondy Antrim an’ his gang of cutthroats!”

CHAPTER XXVII

EVIDENCE

When Gary Warden stepped off the east-bound train at Willets one evening in April—­to be met by Singleton, who had been apprised of the day of his coming and who had been in town for two days waiting—­there was an expectant smile on his face.

A change seemed to have come over the town.  The winter lethargy had been shaken off and Willets was a throb with life and activity.  There was a warm wind blowing, bearing the breath of the new sage; doors were open; many horses were hitched to the rails that fringed the walk in front of saloons and stores; and there was over it all an atmosphere that seemed to be vital, electric.

Warden drew Singleton over to a corner of the station platform, from where, between two buildings, they had a clear, unobstructed view of the street.

“Della Wharton didn’t come?” asked Singleton.

“No,” laughed Warden; “she stayed over for a reception at the governor’s mansion, tonight.  She’ll be here tomorrow.”  He leaned close to Singleton, whispering: 

“Are Blondy and his men settled?”