ng bleak northern sky and other
indications of the coming storm. And undoubtedly, if they had started
toward the camp, they were by this time being punished for their
dereliction. They would make the camp, though, he was sure, for they had
the wind at their backs, and they knew the trail. He expected, any
minute, to hear them at the door. He grinned, his face a trifle grim as
he anticipated their astonishment at finding him there, with the two
fence cutters occupying the bunks.

He had not followed the herd to the Circle L shelters because he had had
small hope of keeping close to the fence cutters in the storm. And he
had brought them back to the cabin to make sure of them. As he sat at
the table he drew out the paper the men had signed and read their names:

"_Lay Givens._"

"_Ben Link._"

Their confession would convict Gary Warden of a crime that--if it did
not open the doors of the penitentiary to him--would bring upon him the
condemnation of every honest man in the state. In his anxiety to inflict
damage upon Lawler, Warden had overstepped himself.

Lawler had betrayed no passion that day when he had got off the train at
Willets with his men and Blondy Antrim. He had not permitted any of them
to suspect that the incident of the attempted theft of a portion of the
trail herd had affected him. But it had affected him. It had aroused him
as he never had been aroused before; it had filled him with a passionate
hatred of Gary Warden so intense that when his thoughts dwelt upon the
man he felt a lust to destroy him. Not even Lafe Corwin, watching him
that day at Willets, knew how he had fought to overcome the driving
desire to kill Warden, Singleton, and Antrim, as they had stood there on
the platform.

His eyes chilled now, as he thought of Warden and the others. He got up,
his blood pulsing heavily, and started toward the fire. He had reached
it, and was standing before it, when he heard a sound at the door--a
faint knocking, and a voice.

Davies and Harris were coming now. They were cold, he supposed, had seen
the light in the window--perhaps had tried the door; the wind drowning
the noise so that he had not heard it before. They were in a hurry to
get in, to the warmth the cabin afforded.

He was in no hurry to let them in, and he walked deliberately to the
table and stood beside it, his back to the fire, smiling ironically.

He heard no further sound, and he supposed the men had gone to the
dugout to turn