Owen’s face was chalk white and working with demoniac passion.  His eyes were wild, and blazing with a wanton malignancy that awed every man who looked at him—­Sanderson included.  His teeth were bared in a horrible snarl; the man was like some wild animal—­worse, the savage, primitive passions of him were unleashed and rampant, directed by a reasoning intelligence.  His voice was hoarse and rasping, coming in jerks: 

“Get out of the way, Sanderson!  Stand aside!  I’ll take care of these whelps!  Get your hands up, Dale!  Higher—­higher!  You damned, sneaking vulture!  Come here to make trouble, eh?  You and your bunch of curs!  I’ll take care of you!  Move—­one of you!  Move a finger!  You won’t!  Then go!  Go!  I’ll count three!  The man that isn’t going when I finish counting gets his quick!  One—­two——­”

“Wait!!  Already on the move, the men halted at the sound of his voice.  The violence of the passion that gripped him gave him a new thought.

“You don’t go!” he jeered at them.  “You stay here.  Sanderson, you take their guns!  Grab them yourself!”

Sanderson drew his own weapon and moved rapidly among the men.  He got Dale’s gun first and threw it in the sand at the edge of the porch.  Then he disarmed the others, one after another, throwing the weapons near where he had thrown Dale’s.

He heard Owen tell Mary Bransford to get them, and he saw Mary gathering them up and taking them into the house.

Sanderson made his search of the men thorough, for he had caught the spirit of the thing.  At last, when the guns were all collected, Owen issued another order: 

“Now turn your backs—­every last man of you!  And stay that way!  The man that turns his head will never do it again!

“Sanderson, you go after Williams and the others.  They’ve only been gone about an hour, and they won’t travel fast.  Get them!  Bring them back here.  Then we’ll take the whole bunch over to Okar and see what Judge Graney has to say about that warrant!”

Sanderson looked at Mary Bransford, a huge grin on his face.  She smiled stiffly at him in return, and nodded her head.

Seemingly, it was the only way out of a bad predicament.  Certainly they could not commit wholesale murder, and it was equally certain that if Dale was permitted to go, he and his men would return.  Or they might retire to a distance, surround the house and thus achieve their aim.

Sanderson, however, was not satisfied, for he knew that a sudden, concerted rush by the men—­even though they were unarmed—­would result disastrously to Owen—­and to Mary—­if she decided to remain.

Telling the little man to keep a watchful eye on the men, he went among them, ordering those that were mounted from their horses.  When they were all standing, he began to uncoil the ropes that were hanging from the saddles.

He worked fast, and looking up once he saw Owen’s eyes glowing with approval—­while Mary smiled broadly at him.  They knew what he meant to do.