owing with the
rage that had gripped them over the presence of the unseen menace; their
muscles were tensed and their lips were in the sullen pout which
presages the imminence of action.

Shorty, the tawny giant, was a terrible figure. He seemed to be
outwardly cool, and there was not a sign of passion in his manner. His
hands swung limply at his sides, not a muscle in his body seeming to
move. Unlike the other men, he was calm, seemingly unperturbed. So
striking was the contrast between him and the other men that Lawler
looked twice at him. And the second time he saw Shorty's eyes--they were
gleaming pools of passion, cold, repressed.

"Easy, boys!" Lawler called to the men. "Don't let them suspect you know
they've been trailing us. They've got us two to one, almost--if they
mean trouble we'll have to work easy!"

He saw the men relax; and several of them resumed their former positions
at the fire.

The strange riders were coming steadily onward; they were not more than
a hundred yards distant when Blackburn exclaimed, hoarsely:

"Lawler; it's Blondy Antrim an' his gang! Damn his hide! We're in for
it!"

For the first time since Garvin had told him of the presence of the men
on the trail behind the herd, Lawler's face betrayed passion--the glow
in his eyes rivaled that in the giant's.

During the past year or so word had reached him--rumor unfounded, but
insistent--that more than once Singleton and Blondy Antrim, the outlaw,
had been seen together. He had placed no credence in the rumors,
ascribing them to the imaginations of mischievous brains, prejudiced
against Singleton because of his bluff, dominant manner. He first had
suspected there might be truth in them when Joe Hamlin had told him that
he had rustled cattle for Singleton. He now believed that Singleton had
disposed of the stolen cattle through Antrim and the conviction that
Singleton was behind the action of the outlaw in trailing the herd
through the country seized him.

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