they?"

"They are--hell--that's all."

"I'd like to see 'em. Maybe _they're_ real men."

"They're devils. If I told you their names you'd turn stiff."

"I'll take one chance. Tell me who they are."

"I don't dare tell you."

She hesitated.

"I _will_ tell you! You've made a fool out of me with them big baby
eyes. Jim Silent is in that house!"

He turned and ran, but not for the horse-shed; he headed straight for
the open door of the house.

* * * * *

In the dining-room two more had left the table, but the rest,
lingering over their fresh filled coffee cups, sat around telling
tales, and Tex Calder was among them. He was about to push back his
chair when the hum of talk ceased as if at a command. The men on the
opposite side of the table were staring with fascinated eyes at the
door, and then a big voice boomed behind him: "Tex Calder, stan' up.
You've come to the end of the trail!"

He whirled as he rose, kicking down the chair behind him, and stood
face to face with Jim Silent. The great outlaw was scowling; but his
gun was in its holster and his hands rested lightly on his hips. It
was plain for all eyes to see that he had come not to murder but to
fight a fair duel. Behind him loomed the figure of Lee Haines scarcely
less imposing.

All eternity seemed poised and waiting for the second when one of the
men would make the move for his gun. Not a breath was drawn in the
room. Hands remained frozen in air in the midst of a gesture. Lips
which had parted to speak did not close. The steady voice of the clock
broke into the silence--a dying space between every tick. For the
second time in his life Tex Calder knew fear.

He saw no mere man before him, but his own destiny. And he knew that
if he stood before those glaring eyes another minute he would become
like poor Sandy a few minutes before--a white-faced, palsied coward.
The shame of the thought gave him power.

"Silent," he said, "there's a quick end to the longest trail,
because--"

His hand darted down. No eye could follow the lightning speed with
which he whipped out his revolver and fanned it, but by a mortal
fraction of a second the convulsive jerk of Silent's hand was faster
still. Two shots followed--they were rather like one drawn-out report.
The woodwork splintered above the outlaw's head; Tex Calder seemed to
laugh, but his lips made no sound. He pitched forward on his face.

"He fired that bullet," said Si