saddled and bridled horse. This fellow dropped the
bridle and sat down among his comrades without a word. No one spoke. The
presence of the horse was significant. With a snarling, muttered curse,
Beasley took up his rifle and strode back to the ranch-house.

In his rage and passion he did not realize what his men had known for
hours--that if he had stood any chance at all for their respect as well
as for his life the hour was long past.

Beasley avoided the open paths to the house, and when he got there he
nervously poured out a drink. Evidently something in the fiery liquor
frightened him, for he threw the bottle aside. It was as if that bottle
contained a courage which was false.

Again he paced the long sitting-room, growing more and more wrought-up
as evidently he grew familiar with the singular state of affairs. Twice
the pale serving-woman called him to dinner.

The dining-room was light and pleasant, and the meal, fragrant and
steaming, was ready for him. But the women had disappeared. Beasley
seated himself--spread out his big hands on the table.

Then a slight rustle--a clink of spur--startled him. He twisted his
head.

"Howdy, Beasley!" said Las Vegas, who had appeared as if by magic.

Beasley's frame seemed to swell as if a flood had been loosed in his
veins. Sweat-drops stood out on his pallid face.

"What--you--want?" he asked, huskily.

"Wal now, my boss, Miss Helen, says, seein' I am foreman heah, thet it'd
be nice an' proper fer me to drop in an' eat with you--THE LAST TIME!"
replied the cowboy. His drawl was slow and cool, his tone was friendly
and pleasant. But his look was that of a falcon ready to drive deep its
beak.

Beasley's reply was loud, incoherent, hoarse.

Las Vegas seated himself across from Beasley.

"Eat or not, it's shore all the same to me," said Las Vegas, and he
began to load his plate with his left hand. His right hand rested very
lightly, with just the tips of his vibrating fingers on the edge of
the table; and he never for the slightest fraction of a second took his
piercing eyes off Beasley.

"Wal, my half-breed greaser guest, it shore roils up my blood to see you
sittin' there--thinkin' you've put my boss, Miss Helen, off this ranch,"
began Las Vegas, softly. And then he helped himself leisurely to food
and drink. "In my day I've shore stacked up against a lot of outlaws,
thieves, rustlers, an' sich like, but fer an out an' out dirty low-down
skunk, you shore take