Lazy Eight boys, they were; men who night after night had spread their blankets under the tent-roof with him and with Bob MacGregor; Bob, who lay silently out on the hill back of the home ranch-house, waiting for the last, great round-up.

They glanced at him in mute greeting and dismounted without a word.

With them mingled the Circle Bar boys, as silent and grim as their fellows.

Lauman came up and peered into the dusk; Thurston observed that he carried his Winchester unobtrusively in one hand.
"Why, hello, boys," he greeted cheerfully.

But for the rifle you never would have guessed he knew their errand.
"Hello, Lauman," answered Park, matching him for cheerfulness.