osalind Benham's duplicity. He found it hard to believe that she had been
duping him, for during the weeks of his acquaintance with her he had
studied her much--with admiration-weighted prejudice, of course, since she
made a strong appeal to him--and he had been certain, then, that she was
as free from guile as a child--excepting any girl's natural artifices by
which she concealed certain emotions that men had no business trying to
read. He had read some of them--his business or not--and he had imagined
he had seen what had fired his blood--a reciprocal affection. He would not
have declared himself, otherwise.

He went to sleep, thinking of her. He awoke about noon, to see Barkwell
standing at his side, shaking him.

"Have you got any understandin' with that railroad gang that they're to do
any minin' on the Diamond K range?"

"No."

"Well, they're gettin' ready to do it. Over at the butte near the railroad
cut. I passed there a while ago an' quizzed the big guy--Corrigan--about a
gang workin' there. He says they're goin' to mine coal. I asked him if he
had your permission an' he said he didn't need it. I reckon they ain't
none shy on gall where that guy come from!"

Trevison got out of bed and buckled on his cartridge belt and pistol. "The
boys are working the Willow Creek range," he said, sharply. "Get them,
tell them to load up with plenty of cartridges, and join me at the
butte."

He heard Barkwell go leaping down the stairs, his spurs striking the step
edges, and a few minutes later, riding Nigger out of the corral he saw the
foreman racing away in a dust cloud. He followed the bed of the river,
himself, going at a slow lope, for he wanted time to think--to gain
control of the rage that boiled in his veins. He conquered it, and when he
came in sight of the butte he was cool and deliberate, though on his face
was that "mean" look that Carson had once remarked about to his friend
Murphy, partly hidden by the "tiger" smile which, the Irishman had
discovered, preceded action, ruthless and swift.

The level below the butte was a-buzz with life and energy. Scores of
laborers were rushing about under the direction of a tall, thin,
bespectacled man who seemed to be the moving spirit in all the activity.
He shouted orders to Carson--Trevison saw the big figure of the Irishman
dominating the laborers--who repeated them, added to them; sending men
scampering hither and thither. Pausing at a little distance down the
le