ignal of peace.
In appearance he was not unlike Ned Bannister. There was the same long,
slim, tiger build, with the flowing muscles rippling easily beneath the
loose shirt; the same effect of power and dominance, the same clean,
springy stride. The pose of the head, too, even the sweep of salient
jaw, bore a marked resemblance. But similarity ceased at the expression.
For instead of frankness there lurked here that hint of the devil of
strong passion uncontrolled. He was the victim of his own moods, and in
the space of an hour one might, perhaps, read in that face cold cunning,
cruel malignity, leering ribaldry, as well as the hard-bitten virtues of
unflinching courage and implacable purpose.

"I reckon you're near enough," suggested Mac, when the man had
approached to within a hundred feet of the tree clump.

"Y'u're drawing the dead-line," the other acknowledged, indolently.
"It won't take ten words to tell y'u what I want and mean to have. I'm
giving y'u two minutes to hand me over the body of Ned Bannister. If
y'u don't see it that way I'll come and make a lead mine of your whole
outfit."

"Y'u can't come too quick, seh. We're here a-shootin', and don't y'u
forget it," was McWilliams's prompt answer.

The sinister face of the man from the Shoshones darkened. "Y'u've signed
your own death warrants," he let out through set teeth, and at the word
swung on his heel.

"The ball's about to open. Pardners for a waltz. Have a dust-cutter,
Mac, before she grows warm."

The puncher handed over his flask, and the other held it before his eye
and appraised the contents in approved fashion. "Don't mind if I do.
Here's how!"

"How!" echoed Missou, in turn, and tipped up the bottle till the liquor
gurgled down his baked throat.

"He's fanning out his men so as to, get us both at the front and back
door. Lucky there ain't but four of them."

"I guess we better lie back to back," proposed Missou. "If our luck's
good I reckon they're going to have a gay time rushing this fort."

A few desultory shots had already been dropped among the cottonwoods,
and returned by the defendants when Missou let out a yell of triumph.

"Glory Hallelujah! Here comes the boys splittin' down the road
hell-for-leather. That lopsided, ring-tailed snorter of a hawss-thief
is gathering his wolves for a hike back to the tall timber. Feed me a
cigareet, Mac. I plumb want to celebrate."

It was as the cow-puncher had said. Down the road a cloud of