All the cattlemen of the district had driven their stock to Red Rock.

And Warden no longer smiled at the empty corral.
Looking out of one of his office windows this morning, Warden scowled.
He remembered a day, a year or so ago, when he had stood in one of the windows of his office watching Della Wharton wave a handkerchief at Lawler.

She had been riding out of town in a buckboard, with Aunt Hannah beside her, and Lawler had just come from the railroad station.
That incident had spread the poison of jealousy in Warden's veins; the recollection of it had caused him to doubt Della's story of what had happened at the line cabin during the blizzard of the preceding winter; it had filled him with the maddening conviction that Lawler had deliberately tried to alienate Della's affections--that Lawler, knowing Della to be vain and frivolous, had intentionally planned the girl's visit to the line cabin.
He did not blame Della for what had happened.

Upon Lawler was the blame for the affair; Lawler had planned it all, merely to be revenged upon him for his refusal to keep the agreement that had been made with Lefingwell.
Warden sneered as his thoughts went to that day in Jordan's office when Lawler, a deadly threat in his eyes, had leaned close to him to warn him.

Warden remembered the words--they had flamed in his consciousness since.
"But get this straight," Lawler had said.