Whispering Smith
“How am I to get to Point of Rocks—walk there?”
“Not at all,” returned McCloud, ringing up his clerk and asking for a pass, which was brought back in a moment and handed to Dunning. “The cattle,” continued McCloud, “can be run down, unloaded, and driven around the break to-morrow—with the loss of only two days.”
“And in the meantime I lose my market.”
“It is too bad, certainly, but I suppose it will be several days before we can get a line across Smoky Creek.”
“Why weren’t the cattle sent through that way yesterday? What have they been held at Point of Rocks for? I call the thing badly managed.”
“We couldn’t get the empty cars up from Piedmont for the transfer until to-day; empties are very scarce everywhere now.”
“There always have been empties here when they were wanted until lately. There’s been no head or tail to anything on this division for six months.”
“I’m sorry that you have that impression.”
“That impression is very general,” declared the stockman, with an oath, “and if you keep on discharging the only men on this division that are competent to handle a break like this, it is likely to continue!”
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