“We’re looking for two men and a woman, Lawler.  Have you seen anything of them?”

“I’ve seen two men, Warden; but no woman.”

Warden’s eyes quickened.  Some color surged into his face.

“How long have you been here, Lawler?”

“Since the day the storm broke.  Davies and Harris went to town for a spree, and I’ve been substituting for them.”

He felt a savage amusement over Warden’s attempt to conceal his disappointment.  He could see that the man was consumed with curiosity over the outcome of the fence cutting, though he dared not voice it.

“Lawler,” said Warden; “we’ve lost two men—­Link and Givens; and Della Wharton—­who was staying at the Two Diamond.”

“I’ve seen no woman, Warden.  But I’ve seen Link and Givens.  You’ll find them out by the windbreak.  I had to kill them.”

Lawler saw the men behind Warden grow rigid; Warden’s face grew ghastly.

Lawler’s smile had gone.  He was coldly alert, watching the men behind Lawler, aware that his news was a shock to them; divining they would not hesitate to do violence if an explanation was not quickly offered.

But there was cold malice in Lawler’s heart toward Warden; and he stood, silent, watchful, until Warden recovered from his astonishment.  He was determined to compel Warden to ask the question that, plainly, was in his mind.

And at last Warden asked it: 

“What did you kill them for?”

“I caught them cutting my fence, Warden.  At just about the time the storm struck.  I brought them here—­after lifting their guns.  I intended to take them to Sheriff Moreton, at Willets.  But during the night I sent them out for wood, and when they re-entered the cabin they attacked me—­Link with an axe, and Givens with a piece of cordwood.  You can see where the axe landed—­where it stuck in the floor, when Link missed me as I opened the door for him.”

The door opened and the men filed out, eager to ascertain the truth of Lawler’s story.  Warden did not move; but his eyes, the expression of his face, indicated that he did not doubt Lawler’s story.  But he sought to discredit it.

“What would my men cut your fence for, Lawler?”

Lawler laughed.  He had no intention of telling Warden about the confession the men had signed.

“You ought to know, Warden—­they were your men.”

“Meaning that I sent them to cut the fence?” demanded Warden.  His face was red with a wrath that was plainly artificial, or that had been aroused over the knowledge that Link and Givens had failed.

“Meaning whatever you choose to think I mean, Warden,” said Lawler coldly.  “I’ll make my explanations to the sheriff.”

Warden had quickly recovered his composure.  It was evident from Lawler’s manner that Link and Givens had not talked.  He had been afraid they might have told Lawler that he had ordered them to cut the fence.  If they had talked, Lawler would have mentioned it before this—­any man would, for no man could have resisted the inevitable impulse to exult over his success in thwarting the men, of bringing confusion upon the author of the scheme.  That was what Warden would have done, and he believed any man would have done it.