Each one of these horses had a riata on the pommel of the saddle.

He sat down to the table, eating his thick hot soup, watching his neighbors covertly, listening to everything that was said.

It did not take him long to gather that the country to the east and south of Keeler was a cattle country.
Not far off, across a range of hills, was the Panamint Valley, where the big cattle ranges were.

Every now and then this name was tossed to and fro across the table in the flow of conversation--"Over in the Panamint." "Just going down for a rodeo in the Panamint." "Panamint brands." "Has a range down in the Panamint." Then by and by the remark, "Hoh, yes, Gold Gulch, they're down to good pay there.

That's on the other side of the Panamint Range.