It was new country--Bud had never so much as seen a map of it to give him a clue to what was coming.

The last turn of the deep-rutted, sandy road where it left the river's bank and led straight between two humpy shoulders of rock to the foot of a platter-shaped valley brought him to a halt again in sheer astonishment.
From behind a low hill still farther to the right, where the road forked again, a bluish haze of smoke indicated that there was a town of some sort, perhaps.

Farther up the valley a brownish cloud hung low-a roundup, Bud knew at a glance.

He hesitated.

The town, if it were a town, could wait; the roundup might not.