His clerk could attend to the store.

Until spring came, Corwin would spend much of his leisure near the big stove in the hotel, talking politics and cattle--two subjects of paramount importance.
But just at this instant Corwin was thinking of Lawler's return to Willets.

Little wrinkles gathered around his eyes--which were twinkling; and he chuckled lowly as his gaze roved from one to the other of the men who, like himself, were enjoying the warmth of the stove and listening, between words, to the howling and moaning of the wind.
Three or four times, during silences, Corwin chuckled.

And when at last he saw Dave Rankin, the blacksmith, watching him curiously, he guffawed aloud, rubbing his hands gleefully.
"I don't reckon I ever seen no mournfuller sight than that!" he declared.
"Meanin' which ?" asked the blacksmith, his eyes alight with truculent inquiry.

The others sat erect, attentive.
"Meanin' that mornin' when Kane Lawler hopped off the train with his bunch of cowhands--an' Blondy Antrim," snickered Corwin.