“Two days,” advised Lawler.  “There’s no hurry.  It’s a bad trail in spots, and they’ll want to feed.  They’ll stand the trip on the cars better if they’ve had plenty of grass.”

“Gary Warden is keeping Lefingwell’s agreement with you, I reckon?” asked Blackburn.  He eyed Lawler intently.

“Of course.”  Lawler caught the expression of his foreman’s eyes, and his brows drew together.  He added:  “Why do you ask?”

“Just wonderin’,” hesitated Blackburn; “just wonderin’.  You seen this here man, Warden?”

Lawler had not met Warden; he had not even seen the man from a distance.  That was because he had not visited Willets since Warden had bought Lefingwell’s ranch and assumed Lefingwell’s position as resident buyer for a big eastern live-stock company.  Lawler had heard, though, that Warden seemed to be capable enough; that he had entered upon the duties of his position smoothly without appreciable commotion; he had heard that Warden, was quiet and “easy-going,” and that as a cattle buyer he seemed to “know his business.”

This information had reached Lawler’s ears through the medium of neighboring cattle owners, and he was willing to accept it as accurate, though he was not prepared to form an estimate of Warden until he had an opportunity to talk with him personally.

“Well,” went on Blackburn; “them that’s looked him over don’t hesitate to say he don’t measure up to Jim Lefingwell’s size.”

“Jim was a mighty big man—­in size and principles,” said Lawler.

“Now you’re shoutin’!  There wasn’t no man bigger’n Jim, sideways, edgeways, or up an’ down.  I reckon any man would have a hard time measurin’ up to Jim Lefingwell.  Mebbe that’s what’s wrong with Warden.  Folks has got Jim Lefingwell on their minds, an’ they’re not givin’ Warden what’s comin’ to him, them bein’ biased.”  He squinted at Lawler.  “Folks is hintin’ that Warden don’t own Jim Lefingwell’s ranch a-tall; that some eastern guys bought it, an’ that Warden’s just managin’ it.  Seems like they’s a woman at the Lefingwell’s old place, keepin’ Warden company.  She’s eastern, too, they say.  Got a old maid with her to keep her company—­a chapper-own, they say—­which ain’t in no ways illuminatin’ my think-tank none.  Which is a chapper-own?”

“A kind of a moral monitor, Blackburn,” grinned Lawler.  “Some folks need them.  If you’re thinking of getting one——­”

“Bah!” Blackburn’s eyes were vitriolic with disgust.  “I sabe what you are hintin’ at when you gas of morals—­which I’m a heap acquainted with because I ain’t got none to speak of.  But I’m plumb flabbergasted when you go to connectin’ a battleship with anything that’s got a whole lot to do with morals.  Accordin’ to my schoolin’, a monitor is a thing which blows the stuffin’ out of——­”

“A monitor of morals could do that,” gravely said Lawler.  “In fact, according to the best authorities, there have been many monitors who have blown the stuffing out of the reputations of their charges.”