Rowdy of the "Cross L"
that hits 'em, they'll die," Wooden Shoes interposed excitedly. "They ain't nothings for 'em. We had t' turn 'em into the Rockin' R field last night, t' git water an' feed. Red Willow's gone dry outside dat field. They ain't—nothings. They'll die!"
Eagle Creek looked at him dully. For the first time in his life he faced utter ruin. "Damn 'em, let 'em die, then!" he said.
"That's what they'll sure do," Wooden Shoes reiterated stubbornly. "If they don't git feed and water now, yuh needn't start no round-up next spring."
Pink's eyes went down over the close-huddled backs and the thicket of polished horns, and his eyelids stung. Would all of them die, he wondered! Four thousand! He hoped not. There must be some way out. Down the hill, he knew the cowboys were making cigarettes while they waited and wondered mightily what it was all about. If they only knew, he thought, there would be more than one rope ready for Harry Conroy.
"How about the Peck reservation? Couldn't you get them on there?" Rowdy ventured.
"Not a hoof!" growled Eagle Creek, with his thin sunk against his chest. "There's thirty thou-
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