“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 Silent, “after mine hit him.”

Then he leaped back through the door.

“Keep ’em back one minute, Lee, an’ then after me!” he said as he ran.  Haines stood in the door with folded arms.  He knew that no one would dare to move a hand.

Two doors slammed at the same moment—­the front door as Silent leaped into the safety of the night, and the rear door as Whistling Dan rushed into the house.  He stood at the entrance from the kitchen to the dining-room half crouched, and swaying from the suddenness with which he had checked his run.  He saw the sprawled form of Tex Calder on the floor and the erect figure of Lee Haines just opposite him.