If we'd happen to run into a storm on the Tom Long trail we wouldn't get no cattle to Red Rock at all.

An' if we winter them on the open range there wouldn't be a sound hoof left by spring, for we've got no feed put by.

It's too certain, men; an' a bad year would bust me wide open.

I reckon I'll sell my stock to Gary Warden.

I hate it like poison, but I reckon it's the only thing we can do." The others nodded, plainly having determined to follow Caldwell's example.