denunciation the meaning back of all his
passion held Poggin bound more than the surprise. For the outlaw
certainly was surprised, perhaps staggered at the idea that he, Poggin,
had been about to stand sponsor with Fletcher for a famous outlaw hated
and feared by all outlaws.

Knell waited a long moment, and then his face broke its cold immobility
in an extraordinary expression of devilish glee. He had hounded the
great Poggin into something that gave him vicious, monstrous joy.

"BUCK DUANE! Yes," he broke out, hotly. "The Nueces gunman! That
two-shot, ace-of-spades lone wolf! You an' I--we've heard a thousand
times of him--talked about him often. An' here he IN FRONT of you!
Poggin, you were backin' Fletcher's new pard, Buck Duane. An' he'd
fooled you both but for me. But _I_ know him. An' I know why he drifted
in here. To flash a gun on Cheseldine--on you--on me! Bah! Don't tell me
he wanted to join the gang. You know a gunman, for you're one yourself.
Don't you always want to kill another man? An' don't you always want to
meet a real man, not a four-flush? It's the madness of the gunman, an' I
know it. Well, Duane faced you--called you! An' when I sprung his name,
what ought you have done? What would the boss--anybody--have expected of
Poggin? Did you throw your gun, swift, like you have so often? Naw; you
froze. An' why? Because here's a man with the kind of nerve you'd love
to have. Because he's great--meetin' us here alone. Because you know
he's a wonder with a gun an' you love life. Because you an' I an' every
damned man here had to take his front, each to himself. If we all drew
we'd kill him. Sure! But who's goin' to lead? Who was goin' to be first?
Who was goin' to make him draw? Not you, Poggin! You leave that for a
lesser man--me--who've lived to see you a coward. It comes once to every
gunman. You've met your match in Buck Duane. An', by God, I'm glad!
Here's once I show you up!"

The hoarse, taunting voice failed. Knell stepped back from the comrade
he hated. He was wet, shaking, haggard, but magnificent.

"Buck Duane, do you remember Hardin?" he asked, in scarcely audible
voice.

"Yes," replied Duane, and a flash of insight made clear Knell's
attitude.

"You met him--forced him to draw--killed him?"

"Yes."

"Hardin was the best pard I ever had."

His teeth clicked together tight, and his lips set in a thin line.

The room grew still. Even breathing ceased. The time for words
had passed. In