hich had sent his death to him
was not in Harlan's right hand at all, but in his left.

Harlan got up slowly as Latimer stretched out in the dust at his
feet--casting one swift glance at the fallen man to satisfy himself that
for _him_ the incident was ended. Then, with the gaze of every man in the
outfit upon him, he strode toward the stable, where Lanky and Poggs were
standing, having witnessed the death of their confederate.

They stiffened to immobility as they watched Harlan's approach, knowing
that for them the incident was not closed--their guilt plain in their
faces.

And when Harlan halted in front of them they stood, not moving a muscle,
their eyes searching Harlan's face for signs that they too, were to
receive a demonstration of the man's uncanny cleverness.

"You was backin' Latimer's play," said Harlan, shortly. "I'm aimin' to
play the string out. Pull--or I'll blow you apart!"

Poggs and Lanky did not "pull." They stood there, ghastly color stealing
into their faces, their eyes wide with the knowledge that death would be
the penalty of a hostile movement.

Harlan's pistol was again in its holster, and yet they had no desire to
provoke the man to draw it. The furtive gleam in the eyes of both
revealed the hope that gripped them--that some of the watchers would
interfere.

But not a man moved. Most of them had been stunned by the rapidity of
Harlan's action--by the deftness with which he had brought his left hand
into use. They had received the practical demonstration for which they
all had longed, and each man's manner plainly revealed his decision to
take no part in what was transpiring.

They remained in their places while Harlan--understanding that Poggs and
Lanky would not accept his invitation--spoke gruffly to them:

"This camp ain't got any room for skunks that go to framin' up on any of
the boys. Today you done it to me--tomorrow you'd try to pull it off on
some other guy.

"You're travelin'--pronto. You're gettin' your cayuses. Then you're
hittin' the breeze away from here--an' not comin' back. That lets you
out. Mosey!"

He stood watchful, alert, while the men roped their horses, got their
"war-bags," from the bunkhouse, mounted, and rode away without looking
back. Then he walked over to the bench where he had been sitting when
Rogers had warned him of the plan to kill him; ordered several of the men
to take Latimer's body away, and then resumed his place on the bench,
where he roll