Excitedly, rapidly, as he held her, she related the story of the night’s adventure.  Then Shorty and the others came up.  She and Lawler were standing in front of a store, in a glare of light that came through a big window; and she saw his lips straighten when she told him what Slade had done.

“Shorty,” he said, grimly; “take care of her.”

And then, despite her struggles—­for she knew that he was going to seek Warden—­she found herself a captive in the giant’s arms, while Lawler ran down the street toward Warden’s office.

CHAPTER XLII

GOING EAST

Within fifteen minutes after he had left Ruth Hamlin with Slade at the side door of the Wolf, Warden had sent a telegram to Lawler, at the capital, informing him that the girl might be found at the brothel with the outlaw.  He had signed no name to the telegram, but that did not lessen the venomous satisfaction he felt over sending it.

It had been nearly eleven o’clock when Warden sent the wire and allowing for some minutes of waste time before the message could be delivered, and the space of time that must elapse before Lawler could reach Willets—­even if he came on a special train—­he knew that Lawler could not arrive before the early hours of the morning.

Lawler, Warden knew, would be in a killing mood when he reached Willets.  And he knew, also, that Slade would be waiting for Lawler, and that he would kill Lawler on sight.

Slade would have to kill Lawler, for Lawler, as governor, had the power to be revenged upon the outlaw for the abduction of Ruth; and Slade would know that Lawler would use that power to the limit.  If Slade killed Lawler, that would be another matter.  The outlaw would have to hide, to evade the clutches of the law.  But hiding was not more than Slade had been accustomed to for years, and that necessity would work no hardship upon him.

That was Warden’s reasoning.  Perhaps it was faulty, for it hinged upon the vagaries of a wanton character who could not be depended upon.  But Warden had to take that chance.

And Warden’s reasoning, of late, had been influenced by his passionate hatred of Lawler.  That hatred had warped his judgment until he had become a creature guided by the savage impulses that filled his brain.

When he left Slade and Ruth at the door of the Wolf, he went directly to his office, taking Singleton with him.  He lit a kerosene lamp, built a fire in the small stove that stood in a corner; seated himself in a chair, motioned Singleton to another, lit a cigar and smoked—­his eyes gleaming with the vindictive joy he felt.

However, the cigar in his mouth was not half smoked, when from a distance, on the steady west wind, was borne to his ears the faint, wailing shriek of a locomotive whistle.

The cigar drooped from his lips and he looked swiftly at Singleton.  Singleton had heard the sound, too, for his eyes had narrowed and his attitude had become tense.