"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."
"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."