In fact, the atmosphere that surrounded the Circle L seemed to be filled with a strange depression.  There had come a cold grimness into Blackburn’s face, a sullenness had appeared in the eyes of the three men who had survived the fight on the plains; they were moody, irritable, impatient.  One of them, a slender, lithe man named Sloan, voiced to Blackburn one day a prediction.

“Antrim’s dead, all O.K.,” he said.  “But Slade—­who was always a damned sight worse than Antrim—­is still a-kickin’.  An’ Slade ain’t the man to let things go halfway.  Them boys from the other outfits bested him, all right.  But Slade will be back—­you’ll see.  An’ when he comes we’ll be squarin’ things with him—­an’ don’t you forget it!”

* * * * *

It was after Lawler had been occupying the cabin for a month that Metcalf made his second visit.  He rode down the slope of the valley on a horse he had hired at Willets, and came upon Lawler, who was standing at the corral gates, looking across the enclosure at the workmen who were bustling about the ranchhouse.

Metcalf regarded Lawler critically before he dismounted; and then he came forward, shook Lawler’s hand and again looked him over.

“A little thin and peaked; but otherwise all right, eh?” he smiled.  “It’s hard to kill you denizens of the sagebrush.”

He followed Lawler into the shade of the cabin, remarked to Mrs. Lawler that her son would need someone to guard him—­if he persisted in meeting outlaws of the Antrim type single-handed; and then turned to Lawler—­after Mrs. Lawler had gone inside—­and said lowly: 

“Lord, man! you’ve got this state raving over you!  Your fight against the ring is talked about in every corner of the country.  And that scrap with Antrim, Selden, and Krell in the old Dickman cabin will go down in history—­it will be a classic!  What made you rush in on Antrim that way—­giving him the first shot?”

Lawler smiled faintly.  “Shucks, Metcalf, there was nothing to that.  Shorty told me what had happened, and as I recollect, now, I was pretty much excited.”

“Excited, eh?” said Metcalf, incredulously; “I don’t believe it.  What about your going in to Warden’s office, offering to give him the first shot?  Were you excited then?”

Lawler reddened, and Metcalf laughed triumphantly.

“Lawler,” he said; “you’re too damned modest—­but modesty becomes you.  I believe you know it.  Anyway, this state is raving over you.  You’re going to be the next governor.  You’ve got to run!  This state needs a man like you—­it needs you!  You know it.  Everybody knows it—­and everybody wants you.  That is, everybody except Haughton, Hatfield, Warden—­and that bunch—­including the railroad company.  Why, look here, Lawler!” he went on, when Lawler did not answer; “the fight you made last fall against the railroad company was made, with variations, by all the courageous cattlemen in the state.  If a strong man isn’t elected this fall the same fight will have to be made again.  Haughton is so rotten that people are beginning to hold their noses!