He did not move as Lawler leaped from his back--smoothly, quickly, his eyes alert, his muscles tensed for violent action.
The men stood rigid while Lawler jerked their pistols from their holsters and tossed them into the dust waves that danced and swirled around them.

The short man was catapulted against the tall one with a viciousness that staggered both; and then they heard Lawler's voice, sharp and penetrating, above the shrieking of the wind: "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.