.
Sherwood and Bill Jordan, white-faced with fear, as a loud "No!" came
from a majority of the men. This turn of events caused a breach in the
vigilantes' ranks. The Bar O men stood by Mr. Sherwood, but some of the
cattlemen from the Junction hated sheepmen more than they loved the law.

"Better give Dorgan up," Walt Lampson advised Mr. Sherwood.

"No," replied Mr. Sherwood.

A movement began in the crowd. Men ranged themselves on one side or the
other. With the Bar O men and those left from the Junction crowd, Mr.
Sherwood now headed about twenty vigilantes; they were outnumbered. The
old cowpuncher, he of the Custer story, came and stood by Bill Jordan.
It being evident that it would take a fight to get Dorgan, Walt Lampson
stepped back and Mart Cooley took his place.

"Mart's a bad hombre, boss," Bill Jordan whispered to Mr. Sherwood. "You
ain't got no call t' get killed. You better get out o' this."

"Are you going to get out, Bill?" Mr. Sherwood asked, and Bill grinned.

As this Western bad man and this Eastern business man faced each other,
they represented not only violence against law, but something else--the
old order against the new: the old order that survives only on the
printed page and in the memory of man.

"Better give in," Walt Lampson shouted from the crowd. "That skunk
Dorgan ain't worth sheddin' blood for."

"The law is," Mr. Sherwood replied determinedly.

His courage seemed to make an impression on the mutineers, as moral
courage usually does, but not on Mart Cooley, who was regarding Mr.
Sherwood coldly. Mart did not reach for a gun. Your bad man never
did--until the gun was to go into action. And there was this silent
pause between the two factions, when a word would have meant bloodshed.

Whitey had ridden into the outskirts of the scene, unnoticed, and had
seen his father facing Mart Cooley, the man who handed out death so
easily and unerringly. As Whitey dismounted and staggered toward the
center of the crowd, he was joined by Injun, who was standing near.
Whitey's face was ashen and his teeth clenched. He was not going to see
his father killed if he could help it, though he had not the slightest
idea how he could help it. Mr. Sherwood exclaimed angrily when he saw
his son approach with Injun.

Near by stood Mrs. Steele, with clasped hands and staring eyes, helpless
with fear. The boys' coming caused a moment's irresolution in the crowd.
Mrs. Steele saw her chance, and fear left he