hundred yards down the street. Pan saw
Hardman and Matthews come out of the hotel. They could not fail to
observe the quiet, the absence of movement, the waiting knots of men.

This was the climax of strain for Pan. Leisurely he strolled away from
the hitching rail, out into the middle of the street, and down. The
closer groups of watchers vanished.

Hardman could be seen gesticulating, stamping as if in rage; and then
he went into the hotel, leaving Matthews standing alone. Other men, in
the background disappeared. The sheriff stood a moment irresolute,
sagging, with his pale hamlike face gleaming. Then he wheeled to enter
the hotel.

He had damned himself. He had refused the even break, the man-to-man,
the unwritten edict of westerners.

Pan saw this evasion with grim relief. The next move was one easier to
perform, though fraught with great peril. Every man in Marco now knew
that Pan had come out to meet the men he had denounced. They had been
aware of his intention. They had seen him sauntering down the middle
of the street. And they had showed what the West called yellow. But
they had not showed their claws, if they had any. Pan could well have
ended his quest then and there. But to follow it up, to beard the
jackals in their den--that was the last word.

As Pan proceeded slowly down the middle of the street the little groups
of spectators disintegrated, and slipped out of sight into the stores
and saloons. Those farthest from him moved on to halt again. And when
any neared the Yellow Mine, they scurried completely out of sight. Pan
had the main street to himself. For a few moments not a single man
showed himself. Then they began to reappear behind him out of range,
slowly following him.

At the entrance to the Yellow Mine, Pan threw away his cigarette, and
mounted the steps. He was gambling his life on the code of the
westerners. The big hall-like saloon was vacant except for the two
bartenders behind the bar, and a Mexican sweeping out the sawdust. Pan
had heard subdued voices, the shuffle of feet, the closing of doors.
Every muscle in his body was cramped with tension, ready to leap like
lightning into action. Advancing to the bar he called for a drink.

"On the house this mawnin'," replied the nearest bartender, smiling.
He showed a little nervousness with his hands, otherwise he was
composed, and his offer to treat expressed his sentiment. Pan took the
bottle with his left ha