He had thought much of the incident during the days he had lain in the room at the Willets Hotel, and later, while convalescing at the Circle L. And he had been glad his strength had failed him before he did what he had set out to do.  For while there was no doubt in his mind that Warden had been implicated in all the attacks that had been made upon him, he had no legal proof—­except the confession, signed by Link and Givens—­that Warden was guilty.

And, now that he had been elected, he intended to keep silent regarding the confession.  He hated Warden, but it was with something of the passion a man feels who treads upon a poisonous reptile that attacks him.

He meant to be generous in the moment of victory.  Those men—­Warden, Perry Haughton, Hatfield, and the officials of the railroad company—­had performed according to their lights, using whatever power and influence was at hand to gain their ends.  But they had failed.  Several bills now pending in the legislature would effectually curb the powers of those men and others of their kind; and he would see to it that there never would be another opportunity for that sort of practice.

Lawler got up after a time, and walked to one of the big windows, where he stood for some minutes looking out.  Then he returned to his desk, dropped into the chair, pulled open a deep drawer and took therefrom a cartridge belt, completely studded with cartridges.  Suspended from the belt were two ivory-handled pistols that had seen much service.

They had belonged to his father.  Later, he had worn them himself—­in the days when his character had been in process of developing, when he had earned, with them, a reputation which had made him respected throughout the state.

They were, he felt, symbols of an ancient time.  The day was coming when men would ride the open range without guns, when the wearing of guns would bring upon a man the distrust and the condemnation of his kind.  Law and order would supersede the rule of the gun, and the passions of men would have to be regulated by the statute books.

He had brought the two guns with him upon the impulse of a moment.  He would be away from the Circle L for at least two years, and he wanted the guns where he could look at them occasionally.  For they brought into his mind a picture of his father as he had seen him, many times, wearing them; and they reminded him of days when he, too, had worn them—­days that had a romantic charm all their own.

CHAPTER XXXIX

SLADE’S PRISONER

When Ruth regained the use of her senses she was lying on a bed in a small, evil-smelling room.  An oil-lamp burned upon a little stand in one corner.  A door—­the only one—­was closed—­locked.  She saw the stout wooden bar in its sturdy side slots.

At first she thought she was alone; and with a hope that made her breathless she lifted herself, swinging around until her feet were on the floor, intending to leap to the door, open it, and escape.  A sound arrested her, a chuckle, grim and sinister, in a man’s voice.  She flashed swiftly around, to see Slade sitting in a chair near the foot of the bed.  He was bending forward, his elbows on his knees, his knuckles supporting his chin, watching her with a wide, amused grin.