Simmons was a rotund man, bald, with red hair that had a faded,
washed-out appearance. His eyes were large, pale blue in color, with a
singularly ingratiating expression which was made almost yearning by
light, colorless lashes.

Simmons' eyes, however, were unreliable as an index to his character.
One could not examine very far into them. They seemed to be shallow,
baffling. Simmons did not permit his eyes to betray his thoughts. He
used them as masks to hide from prying eyes the things that he did not
wish others to see.

"Come a-visitin', Lawler?" asked Simmons as Lawler halted midway in the
room and smiled faintly at the greeting he received.

"Not exactly, Simmons."

"Not exactly, eh? I reckon that means you've got some business. I'll be
glad to help you out--if I can."

"I'm going to ship my stock East, Simmons, and I'm wanting cars for
them--eight thousand head."

Simmons still sat in the chair beside the window. He now pursed his
lips, drew his brows together and surveyed Lawler attentively.

"Eight thousand head, eh? Sort of whooped 'em up this season, didn't
you. I reckon Gary Warden took 'em all?"

"Warden and I couldn't get together. I'm shipping them East, myself."