While Lawler had been at the Circle L he had fought him secretly, with motives that arose from a determination to control the cattle industry.  Warden had had behind him the secret power of the state government and the clandestine cooperation of the railroad company.  His fight against Lawler had been in the nature of business, in which the advantage had been all on his side.

Now, however, intense personal feeling dominated Warden.  Lawler had beaten him, so far, and the knowledge intensified his rage against his conqueror.  The railroad company’s corral had yawned emptily during the entire fall season.  Not a hoof had been shipped through Willets.  All the cattlemen of the district had driven their stock to Red Rock.  And Warden no longer smiled at the empty corral.

Looking out of one of his office windows this morning, Warden scowled.  He remembered a day, a year or so ago, when he had stood in one of the windows of his office watching Della Wharton wave a handkerchief at Lawler.  She had been riding out of town in a buckboard, with Aunt Hannah beside her, and Lawler had just come from the railroad station.  That incident had spread the poison of jealousy in Warden’s veins; the recollection of it had caused him to doubt Della’s story of what had happened at the line cabin during the blizzard of the preceding winter; it had filled him with the maddening conviction that Lawler had deliberately tried to alienate Della’s affections—­that Lawler, knowing Della to be vain and frivolous, had intentionally planned the girl’s visit to the line cabin.

He did not blame Della for what had happened.  Upon Lawler was the blame for the affair; Lawler had planned it all, merely to be revenged upon him for his refusal to keep the agreement that had been made with Lefingwell.

Warden sneered as his thoughts went to that day in Jordan’s office when Lawler, a deadly threat in his eyes, had leaned close to him to warn him.  Warden remembered the words—­they had flamed in his consciousness since.

“But get this straight,” Lawler had said.  “You’ve got to fight me!  Understand?  You’ll drag no woman into it.  You went to Hamlin’s ranch the other day.  God’s grace and a woman’s mercy permitted you to get away, alive.  Just so sure as you molest a woman in the section, just so sure will I kill you, no matter who your friends are!”

Apparently, in Lawler’s code of morals, it was one thing to force one’s attentions upon a pretty woman, and another thing to steal the affections of a woman promised to another man.

But Warden’s passion permitted him to make no distinction.  And his rage was based upon the premise that Lawler was guilty.  Warden’s thoughts grew abysmal as he stood at the window; and considerations of business became unimportant in his mind as the Satanic impulse seized him.  He stood for a long time at the window, and when he finally seized hat and coat and went down into the street he was muttering, savagely: