“Those cattle will be here in five minutes!  If you don’t have that fence repaired before then, you drift with them, hoofing it!”

In the allotted time they repaired the fence, working with breathless energy, while Lawler stood near, the menacing gun in hand, a saturnine smile wreathing his face.

When the herd reached the fence there was no break in it.  More—­where the break had been were three men on horses who took instant charge, easing the cattle down along the fence, heading them eastward toward the shelter they were sure to find if they kept going.

The three men followed the cattle for a mile—­until they were going straight and fast toward the home ranch.  Then Lawler, smiling with bitter humor, motioned the men toward the back trail.

They seemed to know what was demanded of them.  They wheeled their horses, sending them into the billowy white smother that was now coming in a gigantic wave toward them.

The southern light had gone.  A dense blackness, out of which roared a gale that robbed them of their breath, struck them.  The snow was hurled against them like a sand blast, biting deep, blinding them.

It took them more than an hour to travel the distance that lay between the point at which they had cut the fence, and the line cabin.  And when they reached a windbreak near the structure the two men rode behind it, silent, thankful.

Lawler had ridden forth, prepared for bad weather.  His face was now muffled in a huge scarf that encircled his neck, and his eyes were shielded by the peak of the fur cap he wore.  He dismounted, waved the men toward a dugout, and watched them as they dismounted and led their horses through a narrow door.  When the men emerged Lawler led the big red horse in, leaving the men to stand in the white gale that enveloped them.

The wind was now roaring steadily, and with such force that no man could have faced it with uncovered face.  It came over the vast emptiness of the northern spaces with a fury that sent into one the consciousness that here was an element with which man could not cope.

Lawler emerged from the dugout and closed the door behind him.  He barred it, turned and motioned the two men toward the cabin.  He followed them as they opened the door and entered.  Then, after closing the door and barring it, he lifted the peak of his cap, removed the scarf from his neck, glanced around the interior of the cabin and looked coldly at the men.

“Well,” he said; “there’s a heap of explaining to be done.  You can begin now—­one at a time!”

CHAPTER XVII

THE LINE CABIN

The two men had walked to a point near the big fireplace that occupied the greater part of one end of the cabin.  The hatless one, big, assertive, belligerent, grinned defiantly, saying nothing in answer to Lawler’s words.

The other man, slighter, and plainly apprehensive, glanced swiftly at his companion; then dropped his gaze to the floor.