t the opening one had the glimpse of a
narrow black necktie slipped askew. The clean-shaven line of his mouth
was set in relentless determination.

The bodyguard rode with hanging reins, and each right hand lay in
counterfeited carelessness on the lock of its rifle.

"Thar he comes now," commented Garvin. "You must excuse me if I don't go
out to introduce you. He's a bitter kind of feller. You understand how
it is."

At Weighborne's signal his attorney halted and the men of the bodyguard
drew rein, keeping their places about him. We walked out to the middle
of the road, and while we talked to the rawboned, life-battered man in
the center of the hollow square, his attendants shouted greetings to the
loungers on the porch of the store. These greetings partook of the
nature of pleasantries and the only note of frank hostility came from
the throats of the hounds. They bristled and growled with an instinct
which was softened by no artificial code of hypocrisy. Still, so long as
the halt lasted, the two parties kept their eyes alertly fixed on each
other. It needed little penetration to discover that the geniality was
shallow and temporary, like that between the outposts of hostile armies
lying close-camped, across an interval soon to be closed in battle.

"You made a very unfortunate mistake in stopping here," said Marcus to
Weighborne, in a low voice. He nodded to two mountaineers who rode on
the far side of the cavalcade. They slipped from their saddles and
allowed us to mount in their stead while they trudged alongside,
carrying our bags.

As we started forward, Weighborne answered.

"I didn't halt at Garvin's place from choice. The wagon could go no
further. I don't suppose there was any actual danger, and after all I
wanted to see how he would talk."

Marcus nodded and drew his mouth tighter.

"It turns out all right," he said, "but don't do it again."

After a moment's silence he burst out bitterly.

"No danger! My God, man, do you suppose I ride like this--surrounded by
armed men, because it pleases my pride?" He swept his talon-like hand
around him in a circle. "Look at them! Do you reckon I do that for pomp
and display? Do you suppose any man likes to say good-bye to his
children when he leaves home with the thought in his mind that it may be
a last good-bye?"

"Is it as bad as that?" I questioned with the stranger's incredulity.

He turned his hunted eyes on me. "Worse," he said briefly. "I dare not