In other days Luke Lawler had lost many cattle here; they had drifted through the break by hundreds, with a blizzard behind them; and had been swallowed by the great waste.
Two years before--aware of the previous losses--Lawler had erected a wire fence across the big break, extending from a craggy mountain wall on the western end, to a sheer butte that marked the end of the break, eastward.
Lawler had sent Red King to the crest of the valley on his way to the Hamlin cabin, when he noted that the cloud bank in the north had grown denser, nearer.

The wind had increased in velocity, and he had to lean against it as he rode; and it was so cold and raw that he drew his heavy cap down over his eyes to shield them, and drew over his mouth the heavy woolen scarf he wore around his neck.
He rode on a short distance, casting troubled glances into the north.

He found himself wondering if Davies and Harris had gone to the line camp.
If they hadn't, and a storm broke, the herd on the big level was in danger.
He brought Red King to a halt.

The big horse pranced, whistling eagerly.
He champed on the bit, tossed his head, raising it finally and staring straight into the north.
"You see it too, eh, King ?" said Lawler.

"Well, we can't take that chance; we'll have to go to the camp." He headed Red King down into the valley again, where the bitter wind did not strike them, riding westward rapidly.
It was noon before Lawler and Red King had traveled half the distance to the line camp.