om them. All the others suddenly
abandoned their lounging attitude.

"Hardman, what's your game?" queried Pan bluntly, as he halted.

The words, the pause manifestly relieved Hardman, for he swallowed hard
and braced himself.

"Game?" he parried gruffly. "There's no game about drivin' a million
wild hosses through the dust. It was work."

"Don't try to twist words with me," replied Pan fiercely. "What's your
game? Do you mean a straight out and out horse-thief deal? Or a share
and share divvy on the strength of your riding in where you weren't
asked?"

"Young man, I'm warnin' you not to call me a hoss thief," shouted
Hardman, growing red under his beard.

"I'll call you one, damn quick, if you don't tell your game."

"We made the drive, Smith," returned Hardman. "You'd never made it
without us. An' that gives us the biggest share. Say two-thirds, I'll
buy your third at ten dollars a head."

"Hardman, that's a rotten deal," burst out Pan. "Haven't you any
sense? If you could make it, you'd be outlawed in this country. Men
won't stand for such things. You may be strong in Marco but I tell you
even there you can't go too far. We planned this trap. We worked like
dogs. And we made the drive. You might account for more horses
trapped, but no difference. You had no business here. We can _prove_
it."

"Wal, if I've got the hosses I don't care what _you_ say," retorted
Hardman, finding bravado as the interview progressed.

It was no use to try to appeal to any sense of fairness in this man.
Pan saw that and his passionate eloquence died in his throat. Coldly
he eyed Hardman and then the greasy dust-caked face of Purcell. He
could catch only the steely speculation in Purcell's evil eyes. He
read there that, if the man had possessed the nerve, he would have
drawn on him at the first.

Meanwhile Blinky had come up beside Pan and a moment later Mac New.
Neither had anything to say but their actions, especially Mac New's,
were not to be misunderstood. The situation became intense. Hardman
suddenly showed the strain.

Pan's demeanor, however, might have been deceiving, except to the
keenest of men, long versed in such encounters.

"Jard Hardman, you're a low-down horse thief," said Pan deliberately.

The taunt, thrown in Hardman's face, added to the tension of the
moment. He had lost the ruddy color under his beard. His eyes stood
out. He recognized at last something beyond his power to ch