And, singularly, Singleton knew it; he knew that if he drew his gun on Lawler, Lawler would anticipate the movement; Singleton had become convinced of it—­the conviction had become an obsession.  That was why his rage had cooled so suddenly when he had entered the schoolroom.

But he knew, too, that Lawler never sought trouble; that within the past few years—­or since Singleton had known him—­he had never drawn the gun that reposed at his hip.  And that knowledge brought the rage surging back into Singleton’s veins.  He knew he could talk to Lawler; that he could say some of the things that were in his mind—­that had been in his mind all along; and that he would be safe so long as he kept his hands away from his guns.

As he snarled his questions at Lawler he took a step toward him.  His eyes were truculent again, his lips in the pout that had been on them when he had entered.  If Lawler didn’t go for his gun he need have no fear of him.  For he was bigger than Lawler, stronger.  And if he could goad Lawler into using his fists instead of the dreaded gun he had no doubt of the outcome.

“Singleton,” replied Lawler, answering the questions that had been hurled at him; “what I am here for is my business.  I don’t feel a heap like explaining it.”

“Business—­bah!” sneered Singleton.  “I reckon the business that brought you here could be carried on better with no kids around.”

Singleton saw a pin point of fire glow in Lawler’s eyes.  But he noted with venomous satisfaction that Lawler’s hand did not move upward the slightest fraction of an inch toward his gun, and he laughed discordantly, taking another step toward Lawler, so that he would be close enough to strike when the time came.

“Lawler,” he said, sticking his face close to the other’s, his eyes glittering with the malignant triumph that had seized him over the conviction that Lawler would not try to draw his gun; “I’m figgerin’ on wallopin’ you like you walloped my kid.  Understand?  I’m aimin’ to make you fight—­with your fists.  I’m goin’ to knock hell out of you!”.

Lawler had not moved.  Had Singleton not been so obsessed with thoughts of an easy victory he might have noted that the pin point of fire that had glowed in Lawler’s eyes had grown larger, and that his muscles had stiffened.  Also, had Singleton been observant at this minute he must have seen a faint grin on Lawler’s lips.

“Hell’s fire!” snarled Singleton; “won’t anything make you fight!  There’s that girl there—­Ruth Hamlin.  You think she’s got a right to be proud as she is.  Lawler, you don’t know her; you don’t know what’s goin’ on over there at the Two Bar—­Hamlin’s ranch.  This here school teachin’ of hers is only a blind—­a blind, I tell you!  A blind for other things that her an’——­”

Ruth’s sharp, protesting cry was drowned in a sodden swish as Lawler struck.  His fist had shot upward with the weight of his body behind it, landing fairly on the point of Singleton’s chin, snapping his teeth shut with a clack.