“You are mistaken, Hatfield.  Along about the middle of the season every prudent cattle owner arranges with a buyer or with the railroad company for the necessary cars.  In my case, I made arrangements with Jim Lefingwell, the buyer at Willets, as long ago as last spring.  But Lefingwell isn’t buyer any more, and Gary Warden, the present buyer, refuses to recognize my agreement with Lefingwell.”

“A written agreement?”

“Unfortunately not.  Lefingwell’s word was always good.”

Hatfield’s smile was very near a sneer.  “If you neglect the rudiments of business it seems to me that you have only yourselves to blame.  In your case, Lawler, it is rather astonishing.  You have quite a reputation for intelligence; you own one of the biggest ranches in the state; you are wealthy; and last year you tried to tell the people of the state how to run it.  You even went so far as to make a speech in the convention, naming the man you preferred for governor.”

Lawler smiled, though his gaze was level.

“Don’t be unpleasant, Hatfield.  You understand I am not here as a politician, but as a mere citizen petitioning you to act in this railroad case.  What I have done or said has no bearing on the matter at all.  The railroad company will not provide cars in which to ship our stock East, and I am here to ask you to do something about it.”

Hatfield appeared to meditate.

“Warden offered to buy your cattle, you say?”

Lawler nodded.  But he had not mentioned to Hatfield that Warden had offered to buy the cattle—­Hatfield had either surmised that, or had received information through other sources.  Lawler suspected that the railroad commissioner had been informed through the various mediums at his command, and this was evidence of collusion.

“And Simmons says there are no cars,” mused Hatfield.  “Well, that seems to leave you shippers in a bad predicament, doesn’t it?  Can’t you drive to some other point—­where you can arrange to get cars?”

“Five hundred miles, to Red Rock, over the Tom Long trail—­the worst trail in the country.”

“What price could you get at Red Rock?”

“The market price—­about thirty dollars.”

“And what did Warden offer?”

“Twenty-five.”

“H’m.  It seems to me, considering the inconvenience of driving over the Tom Long trail, you’d be better off taking Warden’s offer.  It’s remarkable to what lengths you cattle owners will go for a few dollars.”

“Five dollars a head on a herd of eight thousand amounts to forty thousand dollars, Hatfield,” Lawler reminded him.

“Hatfield, this isn’t a question of dollars, it’s a question of principle.  This situation is a result of a scheme to hold up the cattle owners of the state.  It’s mighty plain.  The railroad company refuses cars to the cattle owners, but will supply them to buyers like Warden.  The buyers must have some assurance of getting cars, or they wouldn’t buy a single hoof.  What we want is to force the railroad to supply cattle owners with cars.”