th each second it grew
clearer that they were waiting for something. And as if thoughtful of
the work before them, they no longer talked so fluently.

Finally there was no talk at all, save for sporadic outbursts, and the
blue smoke and the brown curled up slowly in undisturbed drifts toward
the ceiling until a bright halo formed around the gasoline lamp. A
childish thought came to Bard that where the smoke was so thick the fire
could not be long delayed.

A second form appeared in the doorway, lithe, graceful, and the light
made her hair almost golden.

"Ev'nin', fellers," called Sally jauntily. "Hello, Lawlor; what you
doin' at the head of the table?"

CHAPTER XXX

THE LAMP

The bluff was ended. It was as if the wind blew a cloud suddenly from
the face of the sun and let the yellow sunlight pour brightly over the
world; so everyone in the room at the voice of Sally knew that the time
had come for action. There was no vocal answer to her, but each man rose
slowly in his place, his gun naked in his hand, and every face was
turned to Bard.

"Gentlemen," he said in his soft voice, "I see that my friend Lawlor has
not wasted his lessons in manners. At least you know enough to rise when
a lady enters the room."

His gun, held at the hip, pointed straight down the table to the burly
form of Jansen, but his eyes, like those of a pugilist, seemed to be
taking in every face at the table, and each man felt in some subtle
manner that the danger would fall first on him. They did not answer, but
hands were tightening around revolver butts.

Lawlor moved back, pace by pace, his revolver shaking in his hand.

"But," went on Bard, "you are all facing me. Is it possible?"

He laughed.

"I knew that Mr. Drew was very anxious to receive me with courtesy; I
did not dream that he would be able to induce so many men to take care
of me."

And Sally Fortune, bracing herself against the wall with one hand, and
in the capable grasp of the other a six-gun balanced, stared in growing
amazement on the scene, and shuddered at the silences.

"Bard," she called, "what have I done?"

"You've started a game," he answered, "which I presume we've all been
waiting to play. What about it, boys? I hope you're well paid; I'd hate
to die a cheap death."

A voice, deep and ringing, sounded close at hand, almost within the
room, and from a direction which Bard could not locate.

"Don't harm him if you can help it. But keep him in