room for anything else in my brain.

"The worst of it is, I'm gettin' blamed for it. You'd think I was
runnin' the damned railroad--that I was givin' orders to the president.
Lem Caldwell, of the Star, over to Keegles, was in here yesterday,
threatenin' to herd ride me if I didn't have a hundred cars here this
day, week. He'd been to see Gary Warden--the same as you have--an' he
was figgerin' on playin' her independent. An' some more owners have been
in. I don't know what in hell the company is thinkin' of--no cars, an'
the round-up just over."

Simmons had worked himself into a near frenzy. His face had become
bloated with passion, he was breathing fast. But Lawler noted that his
eyes were shifty, that he turned them everywhere except upon Lawler.

Simmons now paused, seemingly having exhausted his breath.

"I've just left Gary Warden," said Lawler, slowly. "He offered his price
for my stock. He told me if I accepted, it meant there would be no
delay, that they would be shipped immediately. Warden seems to know
where he can get cars."

Simmons' face reddened deeply, the flush suffusing his neck and ears. He
shot one swift glance at Lawler, and then looked down. In that swift
glance, however, Lawler had seen a fleeting gleam of guilt, of
insincerity.

Lawler laughed shortly--a sound that made Simmons shoot another swift
glance at him.