would result from the meeting, Deveny had thrown
Barbara from him.

He had instantly forgotten the girl. For when Harlan came up Deveny saw a
gleam in his eyes that sent his brain to throbbing with those
unmistakable impulses of fear which had seized him the day, in Lamo, when
Harlan had faced him.

There had been a moment of silence when the two groups met; a stiffening
of muscles and the heavy, strained breathing that, in men, tells of
mental preparation for violence, swift and deadly.

It had been Harlan who had prevented concerted action--action that would
have brought about a battle in which all would have figured. His guns
came out before the thought of trouble could definitely form in the
brains of the Deveny men; and he had held them--the men in the saddles,
Deveny standing--until the T Down men, whom he had seen from a distance,
coming toward him, could arrive.

Then, still menacing the Deveny men with weapons, he had dismounted to
face Deveny--where he had been when Barbara Morgan had recovered
consciousness.

And while the girl had been stealing away he had been talking to Deveny,
though loud enough for all of them to hear.

There was about Harlan as this moment a threat that brought awe into the
hearts of Deveny's men--a cold, savage alertness that told them,
unmistakably, that the man's rage was at a pitch where the slightest
movement by any of them would precipitate that action for which, plainly,
Harlan longed.

"So you got Barbara Morgan?" he said as he stood close to Deveny. There
was a taunt in his voice, and an irony that made Deveny squirm with fury.

And yet Deveny fought hard for composure. He could see in Harlan's manner
something akin to what he had seen that day, in Lamo, when Harlan had
baited him. His manner was the same, yet somehow it was not the same.
There was this difference:

In Lamo, Harlan had betrayed the threat of violence that Deveny had felt.
But he had seemed to be composed, saturnine--willing to wait. It had
seemed, then, that he wanted trouble, but he would not force it.

Now, he plainly intended to bring a clash quickly. The determination was
in his eyes, in the set of his head, and in his straight, stiff lips.

He seemed to have forgotten the other men; his gaze was on Deveny with a
boring intensity that sent a chill of stealthy dread over the outlaw.

Deveny had faced many men in whose hearts lurked the lust to kill; he had
shot down men who had faced him with