In an instant—­following Blackburn’s exclamation—­he was aroused to the danger that confronted himself and his men.  As though by previous arrangement, the men looked at him, noted the tenseness that had come over him, listened attentively when he spoke.

“Boys; don’t offer to throw a gun.  I know Antrim.  He’s a killer, and his men are like him.  Take it easy—­keep cool.  The man who loses his temper will be guilty of the wholesale murder that will follow.  When Antrim rides up, send him after me!”

He had not unsaddled Red King.  He strode to the horse, swung into the saddle, and rode eastward, away from the advancing riders.

Blank astonishment, puzzled bewilderment shone in the eyes of the Circle L men as they watched him, and into the hearts of some of them crept the conviction that Lawler had deserted them; that he was afraid of the outlaw chief.

Blackburn saw what they thought, and his burning eyes bored into them with sarcasm unutterable.  He laughed, hoarsely, with a grim mirth that startled them.

“Don’t you worry about Lawler’s nerve, boys; he’s got more of it than the bunch of us put together!  He’s got some scheme in mind.  You guys just set tight until you find out what it is.  Do as he told you.  Don’t let that scurvy gang know that you’re flabbergasted!”

When Lawler rode away there was a noticeable commotion in the group of advancing horsemen.  One of them left the group, spurring his horse in the direction taken by Lawler.  He must have been called back, for he wheeled his horse after he had ridden a dozen paces or so, and rejoined the group, which came on as before.

When the horsemen came to a halt near the fire, they were spread in a semi-circle about the Circle L men, and in their bronzed immobile faces was no answer to the question that agitated Blackburn and the other men.  They had halted at a little distance from the fire, and one of them, a tall, slender, keen-eyed, thin-lipped man, urged his horse out of the circle and insolently inspected Blackburn and his cowboys.  He lounged loosely in the saddle.

There was a sinister light in his eyes, a lurking threat in his manner.

“What outfit is this?” he demanded.

“Circle L, from Wolf River,” answered Blackburn.

“Where you headin’?”

“To Red Rock.”

“Railroad out of business?” jeered the outlaw.

“Far as the Circle L is concerned, it is, Antrim,” smiled Blackburn.  “We had a fuss, an’ quit ’em.”

The outlaw peered intently at the other.  Then he grinned.

“It’s Andy Blackburn!” he said.  “Glad to meet you, Blackburn.  This seems like old times—­before the railroad went through; when old Luke Lawler used to jam ’em to Red Rock—­sometimes—­when he didn’t pick up too many strays on the way.”  He laughed as though pleased over the recollection.  “Got this stock vented, Blackburn?”

“Nary a vent, Antrim; the inspector wasn’t feelin’ in the humor.”