lan's voice, snapping with menace roused him, straightened him,
brought an ashen pallor to his face.

"It's your turn, Deveny. You stay here. Flash your gun!"

Here it was--the dreaded moment. Deveny saw the men around him stiffen
rigidly; he heard their slow-drawn breaths. The thought to draw his gun
was strong in him, and he fought hard to force his recreant muscles to do
the will of his mind. For an instant he stood, his right hand poised
above the holster of his pistol, the elbow crooked, ready to straighten.

And then, with the steady, coldly flaming eyes of Harlan upon him,
Harlan's right hand extended slightly, the fingers spread a little as
though he was about to offer his hand to the other. Deveny became aware
that he was doing an astonishing thing. He was raising his right hand!

Already it was at his shoulder. And as he marveled, it went higher,
finally coming to a level with his head, where it stopped. He had
publicly advertised his refusal to settle his differences with Harlan
with the pistol.

"Yellow!"

It was Harlan's voice. "You won't fight an' you won't run. Well, we'll
keep you, savin' you for the governor. I reckon he'll be glad to see
you."

Harlan turned, sheathing his pistol, and began to walk toward his horse,
his back toward Deveny.

Then Deveny acted. His eyes flaming hate, he drew his pistol with a
flashing movement, his face hideous with malignant passion.

He sent one bullet into Harlan's back and two more as Harlan tumbled
forward, sinking to his knees from the shock. But Deveny's two last
bullets went wild, tearing up the grass of the level as the gun loosened
in his hand.

For Rogers' rifle was spitting fire and smoke with venomous rapidity, and
Deveny was sinking, his knees doubling under him, his body shuddering
with the impact of each bullet.

CHAPTER XXXI

PEACE--AND A SUNSET

Red Linton had recovered--there was no doubt of that. For Linton, though
a trifle pale, was vigorous. Vigor was in the look of him as he stood, a
slow grin on his face, beside Barbara Morgan at the entrance of the
_patio_ of the Rancho Seco ranchhouse.

Barbara was sitting on a bench that ranged the front wall of the
building. She was arrayed in a dress of some soft, fluffy material, in
which she made a picture that brought a breathless longing into Linton's
heart--a longing which made him feel strangely tender and sympathetic.

But Barbara was not smiling. There was a wistfulness in h