there was a smile on her lips.

CHAPTER XXVIII

THE TRAIL HORDE

From the front windows of the Wolf Saloon, Slade, the violent-mannered
rider whom Blondy Antrim had left in charge of his men the night he had
ridden away from the desert camp fire to hold a conference with Lawler
near the trail herd, had watched Sheriff Moreton lope his horse into the
soft southern twilight.

Slade was a young man, tall, swarthy, reckless-eyed. He was keen,
cynical, and jealous of the power and authority of Antrim. He grinned at
Warden, who was standing near, also watching Moreton.

The grin was crooked, expressing reluctance.

"Well the Law is hittin' the breeze, an' I reckon, accordin' to orders,
we'll be hittin' it, too."

He left Warden and walked to the bar, where he spoke lowly to several
men. Then he walked into a rear room, where several other men were
playing cards, and repeated his words. The men ceased playing and
followed him to the front door.

Half an hour later, when Sheriff Moreton had vanished into the growing
dusk, Slade and the men to whom he had spoken, went outside, clambered
upon their horses and rode slowly in the direction taken by the sheriff.

There were a score of them--rough-looking characters with eyes as
reckless as those of the man who led them; and they were silent as they
rode, as though on some stealthy mission.

They did not follow Moreton far; they veered eastward slightly after
they had traveled several miles, and finally came to a trail that
paralleled a small river, which they rode for a time.

Darkness came while they rode, and the twinkling points of stars grew
brighter in the cold blue of the sky--millions of them appeared,
distant, winking, shedding a luminous haze over the land.

After a time the riders reached a level near the river, and some low
buildings loomed out of the haze. A light glowed through a window in one
of the buildings--the largest--and toward this the men rode, dropping
from their horses at the door and filing silently inside.

In a big room, from which came the light the riders had seen, were many
other men.

Antrim, his bronzed face almost the hue of copper in the glare from the
lamp that stood on a table, was sitting in a chair near the door. Some
of the men inside were on their feet, expectant, suspicious. They
grinned when they recognized the newcomers, calling variously to them in
greeting.

Antrim got to his feet when he saw Slade at the door