"Consignin' 'em to who?"

"They'll go to Legget and Mellert."

"H'm; they're an independent concern, ain't they?"

"Yes; that's the firm my father shipped to before Jim Lefingwell opened
an office here."

Simmons locked his fingers together and squinted his eyes at Lawler.

"H'm," he said. Then he was silent, seemingly meditating. Then he shook
his head slowly from side to side. Apparently he was gravely considering
a problem and could find no solution for it.

He cleared his throat, looked at Lawler, then away from him.

"I reckon it's goin' to be a lot bothersome to ship that bunch of stock,
Lawler--a heap bothersome. There's been half a dozen other owners in to
see me within the last week or so, an' I couldn't give them no
encouragement. There ain't an empty car in the state."

Lawler was watching him intently, and the expression in his eyes
embarrassed Simmons. He flushed, cleared his throat again, and then shot
a belligerent glance at Lawler.

"It ain't my fault--not a bit of it, Lawler. I've been losin' sleep over
this thing--losin' sleep, I tell you! I've telegraphed every damned
point on the line. This road is swept clean as a whistle. 'No cars' they
wire back to me--'no cars!' I've read that answer until there ain't no