to Drew?"

"Not this one time. But, Lord, man, I hate to face him if he's on the
warpath. Who'll you take with you?"

"Shorty, of course. He was Calamity Ben's pal. The rest will be--don't
laugh--Butch Conklin and his gang."

"Butch!"

"Hold yourself together. That's what I mean--Butch Conklin."

"After you dropped him the other night?"

"Self-defence, and he knows it. I can find Butch, and I can make him go
with me. Besides, he's out for Bard himself."

The deputy said with much meaning: "You can do a lot of queer things,
Nash."

"Forget it, Glendin."

"I will for a while. D'you really think I can let you take out Butch and
his gunmen ag'in' Bard? Why, they're ten times worse'n the tenderfoot."

"Maybe, but there's nothin' proved ag'in' 'em--nothin' but a bit of
cattle-liftin', maybe, and things like that. The point is, they're all
hard men, and with 'em along I can't help but get Bard."

"Murder ain't proved on Butch and his men, but it will be before long."

"Wait till it's proved. In the meantime use em all."

"You've a long head, Nash."

"Glendin, I'm makin' the biggest play of my life. I'm off to find Butch.
You'll stand firm with Drew?"

"I won't hear a word he says."

"S'long! Be back in ten minutes. Wait for me."

He was as good as his word. Even before the ten minutes had elapsed he
was back, and behind followed a crew of heavy thumping boots up the
stairs of Glendin's house and into the room where he sat with Dr. Young
and Shorty Kilrain. They rose, but not from respect, when Nash entered
with Conklin and his four ill-famed followers behind.

The soiled bandage on the head of Butch was far too thick to allow his
hat to sit in its normal position. It was perched high on top, and
secured in place by a bit of string which passed from side to side under
the chin. Behind him came Lovel, an almost albino type with
straw-coloured hair and eyes bleached and passionless; the vacuous smile
was never gone from his lips.

More feared and more hated than Conklin himself was Isaacs. The latter,
always fastidious, wore a blue-striped vest, without a coat to obscure
it, and about his throat was knotted a flaming vermilion necktie,
fastened in place with a diamond stickpin--obviously the spoil of some
recent robbery. Glendin, watching, ground his teeth.

McNamara followed. He had been a squatter, but his family had died of a
fever, and McNamara's mind had been unsettled ever since; whisky had
finish