There were many men on the street; for word had been brought in regarding the big fight between the Circle L outfit and the rustlers—­and a doctor had gone, summoned to the Hamlin cabin by a wild rider on a jaded horse—­and Willets’ citizens were eagerly curious.  And when they saw Lawler coming, swaying in the saddle as he rode, they began to run toward him.

However, they were brought to a halt by Shorty—­who waved a hand savagely at them, his face expressing a cold intolerance that warned them away.  And so they retreated to the sidewalk, wonderingly, to watch Lawler and Shorty as they rode down the street—­Lawler looking neither to the right nor left, but keeping his gaze straight ahead as though in that direction lay what he had come to seek.

Shorty’s eyes gleamed with understanding when he saw Lawler halt Red King in front of the building in which was Warden’s office.  He was out of the saddle before Lawler clambered slowly out of his, and he stood near as Lawler walked to the door of the building and began to mount the stairs—­going up slowly, swaying from side to side and placing his hands against the wall on either side of him for support.  And when Lawler finally reached the top of the stairs and threw open the door of Warden’s office, Shorty was so close to him that he might have touched his shoulder.

Warden was sitting at his desk when Lawler opened the door, and he continued to sit there—­staring hard at Lawler as the latter swayed across the room to bring up with a lurch against Warden’s desk, his hands grasping its edge.

“Warden,” said Lawler—­and Shorty marveled at the cold steadiness of his voice; “I have just killed Antrim.  Antrim’s men ran off three thousand head of my cattle and killed about twenty of my men—­five at the Circle L and the rest in a fight on the plains not far from the Two Bar.  Antrim burned my buildings.  Twenty-five thousand dollars for the buildings, and ninety thousand for the cattle not to mention my men.

“I’ve got no proof that you were implicated in the deal; but I am convinced that you planned it—­that you got Antrim and his gang to do the work.  That evidence doesn’t go in law, though, Warden—­and you know it.  But it’s enough for the kind of law that I am representing right now.  It’s this!”

He drew his gun with his left hand, taking it from the waistband of his trousers—­where he had placed it when he had picked it up at the Dickman cabin—­and held it on the desk top, so that its dark muzzle gaped at Warden.

For an instant Warden sat, staring in dread fascination into the muzzle of the weapon, his face dead white, his eyes wide with fear, naked, cringing.  Then he spoke, his voice hoarse and quavering.

“This is murder, Lawler!”

“Murder, Warden?” jeered Lawler.  “One of my men was worth a dozen of you!”

Lawler laughed—­a sound that brought an ashen pallor to Warden’s face; then he straightened, and turned, to face Shorty.