"That's mebbe Lawler's old woman, settin' up, wonderin' what her boy's been grabbed by the law for," he sneered.

"Well, she'll be wonderin' more--after Blondy gits through with him." Slade chuckled, but said nothing.

He was hoping that by this time on the morrow Antrim would have discovered that Kane Lawler could "sling" a gun with the speed and accuracy he had used in the old days.
Far down in the valley, Slade pointed out the cattle.

They were scattered a little, as though perfunctorily guarded, but still massed enough to make the task of rounding them up comparatively simple to the big group of men in Slade's company.
"There ain't more'n half a dozen men ridin' night herd down there," said Slade as he pointed out the forms of several horsemen in the vicinity of the herd; "an' likely enough they ain't watchin' a hell of a lot." He issued some orders, and the group on the crest of the valley split up.
Some of them rode west along the edge of the valley, where there was a fringe of juniper and post oak to conceal them; others slid down into the valley directly toward the herd, keeping in the tangled growth that featured the sloping sides of the great hollow.

They were adept at this work, and they moved like shadows until they reached the wide floor of the valley.
Then, spreading out, fanwise, a number of them swinging far around the herd so that they approached it from the west, they closed in.
There was no longer any attempt at concealment.