fession, signed by Link and
Givens--that Warden was guilty.

And, now that he had been elected, he intended to keep silent regarding
the confession. He hated Warden, but it was with something of the
passion a man feels who treads upon a poisonous reptile that attacks
him.

He meant to be generous in the moment of victory. Those men--Warden,
Perry Haughton, Hatfield, and the officials of the railroad company--had
performed according to their lights, using whatever power and influence
was at hand to gain their ends. But they had failed. Several bills now
pending in the legislature would effectually curb the powers of those
men and others of their kind; and he would see to it that there never
would be another opportunity for that sort of practice.

Lawler got up after a time, and walked to one of the big windows, where
he stood for some minutes looking out. Then he returned to his desk,
dropped into the chair, pulled open a deep drawer and took therefrom a
cartridge belt, completely studded with cartridges. Suspended from the
belt were two ivory-handled pistols that had seen much service.

They had belonged to his father. Later, he had worn them himself--in
the days when his character had been in process of developing, when he
had earned, with them, a reputation which had made him respected
throughout the state.

They were, he felt, symbols of an ancient time. The day was coming when
men would ride the open range without guns, when the wearing of guns
would bring upon a man the distrust and the condemnation of his kind.
Law and order would supersede the rule of the gun, and the passions of
men would have to be regulated by the statute books.

He had brought the two guns with him upon the impulse of a moment. He
would be away from the Circle L for at least two years, and he wanted
the guns where he could look at them occasionally. For they brought into
his mind a picture of his father as he had seen him, many times, wearing
them; and they reminded him of days when he, too, had worn them--days
that had a romantic charm all their own.

CHAPTER XXXIX

SLADE'S PRISONER

When Ruth regained the use of her senses she was lying on a bed in a
small, evil-smelling room. An oil-lamp burned upon a little stand in one
corner. A door--the only one--was closed--locked. She saw the stout
wooden bar in its sturdy side slots.

At first she thought she was alone; and with a hope that made her
breathless she lifted herself