“What about?” asked Hamlin, suspiciously.  Overwhelming every other thought in his mind was the conviction that Davies and Harris had apprised Lawler of what had happened the night before, and that Lawler had come to capture him, single-handed.

“About Ruth.”

The wild gleam in Hamlin’s eyes began to dull.  However, he was still suspicious.

“You seen any of your men this mornin’—­Davies or Harris?” he asked.

“Davies and Harris went to town last night.  I reckon they didn’t get back yet.  What’s Davies and Harris got to do with me visiting you?”

“Nothin’.”  There was relief in Hamlin’s voice.  The muzzle of the rifle wavered; the weapon was withdrawn and the slide closed.  Then the door slowly opened, and Hamlin appeared in it, a six-shooter in hand.

“If you’re foolin’ me, Kane Lawler, I’ll sure bore you a-plenty!” he threatened.

“Shucks!” Lawler advanced to the door, ignoring the heavy pistol, which was shoved close to his body as he walked into the cabin, Hamlin retreating before him.

“Hamlin, you’re losing whatever sense you had,” said Lawler as he halted near the center of the big room.  There were three rooms, their doors opening from the one in which Lawler and Hamlin stood.

“Meanin’ what?” demanded Hamlin, nervously fingering the six-shooter.

It was clear that Hamlin was impressed with the repressed force that he could see in Lawler; with the slumbering energy that Lawler’s lithe, sinewy body suggested; with the man’s complete lack of fear and with the cold confidence that swam in his steady eyes.

Hamlin did not know at this minute whether or not he had meant to shoot Lawler.  He believed that if Lawler had told him he had come to take him for blotting out the Circle L brand in the arroyo the preceding night he would have killed Lawler.  But he was not sure.  Something about Lawler made the thought of shooting him seem ridiculous.  It would take a lot of provocation for any man to kill Lawler, for something about Lawler seemed to hint that it couldn’t be done.

“Meaning that you are old enough to know that you can’t keep on rustling my cattle without getting in trouble.”

“Ah!” exclaimed Hamlin, his breath hissing through his teeth as he sucked it in with a gasp; “you sneaked on me, damn you!”

He threw the muzzle of the pistol up, his body stiffening, his eyes glittering with the malignance that had been in them when he had been looking out at Lawler through the aperture in the door.

“You know about that deal, an’ you’ve come for me.  You tried to fool me, eh—­tellin’ me that you didn’t see Davies an’ Harris.  Well, damn your hide you ain’t goin’ to take me; I’ll blow you to hell first!”

Lawler’s eyes were steady and unblinking as he watched Hamlin; they bored into Hamlin’s with a compelling intensity, that brought a conviction of futility into Hamlin’s soul.  They were cold eyes—­cold as icebergs, Hamlin thought as he watched them; but they seemed to flame also, to flame with a fire that was cold as the ice in them.