he spoke.

He was but a few feet away from Thorn, and the old man-killer had his
revolvers buckled around him in their accustomed place, while his
death-spreading rifle stood near his hand, leaning its muzzle against
the chimney-jamb. Thorn seemed to be measuring all the chances which
he had left to him in that bold surprise, and to conclude in the same
second that they were not worth taking.

Macdonald had not drawn his revolver. His hand was on the butt of it,
and his eye held Thorn with a challenge that the old slayer was in no
mind to accept.

Thorn was not a close-fighting man. He never had killed one of his
kind in a face-to-face battle in all his bloody days. At the bottom he
was a coward, as his skulking deeds attested, and in that moment he
knew that he stood before his master. Slowly he lifted his long arms
above his head, without a word, and stood in the posture of complete
surrender.

Nearer the outer door stood Chadron, to whom Macdonald seemed to give
little attention, as if not counting him in the game. The big
cattleman was "white to the gills," as his kind expressed that state.
Macdonald unbuckled Thorn's belt and hung his revolvers over his arm.

"I knowed you'd git me, Macdonald," the old scoundrel said.

Macdonald, haggard and dusty, and grim as the last day that old Mark
Thorn had pictured for himself, pushed his prisoner away from the
chimney, out of reach of the rifle, and indicated that he was to march
for the open door, through which the tables in the dining-room could
be seen. At Macdonald's coming Chadron had thrown his hand to his
revolver, where he still held it, as if undecided how far to go.

"Keep your gun where it is, Chadron," Macdonald advised. "This isn't
my day for you. Clear out of here--quick!"

Chadron backed toward the front door, his hand still dubiously on his
revolver. Still suspicious, his face as white as it would have been in
death, he reached back with his free hand to open the door.

"I told you he'd git me," nodded Thorn, with something near to
exultation in the vindication of his reading of the cards. "I give you
a chance--no man's money ain't a-goin' to shut my mouth now!"

"I'll shut it, damn you!" Chadron's voice was dry-sounding and far
up in his throat. He drew his revolver with a quick jerk that
seemed nothing more than a slight movement of the shoulder. Quick
as he was--and few in the cattlemen's baronies were ahead of him
there--Macdonald was quicker