and snapped back his hand for the throw, Rathburn
had drawn and fired. He knew well the dexterity of a man of Gomez's
stamp with a knife. The gun route was the only chance to protect his
life. But Rathburn realized, too, that he had shot to kill!

He had been incensed by the Mexican's subtle insinuations--maddened by
the way he leered when he spoke Laura Mallory's name. He had virtually
been driven to it. Even now he could not see how he could have avoided
it.

Securing his horse, Rathburn rode swiftly around a back street to a
small barn on the edge of the desert. He ordered his mount watered and
fed. He had known the man who owned this barn, but the individual who
attended to his horse was a new employee. He sat in the little front
office which also served as the quarters of the night man, while his
horse was being looked after. He had not removed his saddle.

Rathburn's thoughts dwelt on what Gomez had said. There was no
question but that the Mexican had taken liberties in saying what he
did, but there was more than a glimmer of truth in his statements.
Rathburn had seen the man leaving Laura Mallory on the porch of the
Mallory ranch house. She had mentioned a man named Doane as having
brought word that he, Rathburn, was back in the country and in more
trouble. Now Gomez had identified this visitor as Doane, the man who
had been calling on Laura Mallory regularly. Rathburn's brows wrinkled
at the thought. But why not? What hold had he upon her? It certainly
wasn't within his rights to resent the fact that another man had found
the girl attractive. But, to his increasing torment, he found that he
_did_ resent it; he couldn't help it!

Suddenly he remembered that Gomez had said Eagen was paying a call on
Doane. What could Eagen have to do with Doane which would warrant his
visiting him early in the morning? Rathburn recalled that Gomez had
intimated that Doane liked to play cards. Was the man then a
professional gambler? But no, Gomez had said he did not play well.

Rathburn tried to recollect where he had seen this man Doane before.
The blond face and mustache were vaguely familiar. Again he strove to
place the man without result.

He shrugged his shoulders, drew out his gun, and replaced the empty
shell with a fresh cartridge. He dropped the weapon back into his
holster and went outside to see about his horse. The dun still was
feeding. Rathburn contented himself with looking over his saddle and
readjusting t