got no authority, that anybody ever heard of, to arrest him
in the first place," Hargus added, his swinging, indecisive arm for a
moment still.

Lambert made no reply. He seemed to be looking over their heads, back
along the road they had come, from the lift of his chin and the set of
his close-gathered brows. He seemed carelessly indifferent to Hargus'
legal opinion and presence, a little fresh plume of smoke going up from
his cigarette as if he breathed into it gently.

Grace started forward with impatient exclamation, tossing her head in
disdainful defiance of this fence-rider's authority.

"Go back!" Kerr commanded, his voice hoarse with the fear of something
that she, in her unreasoning anger, had not seen behind the calm front
of the man she faced.

She stopped, turning back again to where Hargus waited. Along the street
men were drawing away from their doors, in cautious curiosity, silent
suspense. Women put their heads out for a moment, plucked curtains aside
for one swift survey, vanished behind the safety of walls. At the
hitching-rack the two men--one of them Tom Hargus, the other
unknown--stood beside their horses, as if in position according to a
previous plan.

"We want that man," said Hargus, his hand hovering over his gun.

"Come and take him," Lambert invited.

Hargus spoke in a low voice to Grace; she turned and ran toward her
horse. The two at the hitching-rack swung into their saddles as Hargus,
watching Grace over his shoulder as she sped away, began to back off,
his hand stealing to his gun as if moved by some slow, precise machinery
which was set to time it according to the fleeing girl's speed.

Lambert stood without shifting a foot, his nostrils dilating in the
slow, deep breath that he drew. Yard by yard Hargus drew away, his
intention not quite clear, as if he watched his chance to break away
like a prisoner. Grace was in front of the hotel door when he snapped
his revolver from its sheath.

Lambert had been waiting this. He fired before Hargus touched the
trigger, his elbow to his side as he had seen Jim Wilder shoot on the
day when tragedy first came into his life. Hargus spun on his heel as if
he had been roped, spread his arms, his gun falling from his hand;
pitched to his face, lay still. The two on horses galloped out and
opened fire.

Lambert shifted to keep them guessing, but kept away from the pole where
Kerr was chained, behind which he might have found shelter. They had