--even if he came on a special train--he knew that Lawler could
not arrive before the early hours of the morning.

Lawler, Warden knew, would be in a killing mood when he reached Willets.
And he knew, also, that Slade would be waiting for Lawler, and that he
would kill Lawler on sight.

Slade would have to kill Lawler, for Lawler, as governor, had the power
to be revenged upon the outlaw for the abduction of Ruth; and Slade
would know that Lawler would use that power to the limit. If Slade
killed Lawler, that would be another matter. The outlaw would have to
hide, to evade the clutches of the law. But hiding was not more than
Slade had been accustomed to for years, and that necessity would work
no hardship upon him.

That was Warden's reasoning. Perhaps it was faulty, for it hinged upon
the vagaries of a wanton character who could not be depended upon. But
Warden had to take that chance.

And Warden's reasoning, of late, had been influenced by his passionate
hatred of Lawler. That hatred had warped his judgment until he had
become a creature guided by the savage impulses that filled his brain.

When he left Slade and Ruth at the door of the Wolf, he went directly to
his office, taking Singleton with him. He lit a kerosene lamp, built a
fire in the small stove that stood in a corner; seated himself in a
chair, motioned Singleton to another, lit a cigar and smoked--his eyes
gleaming with the vindictive joy he felt.

However, the cigar in his mouth was not half smoked, when from a
distance, on the steady west wind, was borne to his ears the faint,
wailing shriek of a locomotive whistle.

The cigar drooped from his lips and he looked swiftly at Singleton.
Singleton had heard the sound, too, for his eyes had narrowed and his
attitude had become tense.

That both men had the same thought was evidenced by the glance they
exchanged--incipient apprehension.

"It's a freight, likely," muttered Singleton.

Warden took a nervous puff at his cigar. Then he got up, walked to a
window and stood, looking out into the night. He stood there for a few
minutes, Singleton watching him--until the whistle shrieked again and a
muffled roar reached their ears. Then Warden turned, his face ashen.

"Singleton, it's a special!" he said, jerkily; "an engine and one car!"

Singleton got up and walked to the window, beside Warden. As they stood
there, they saw the train stop at the station. They saw, in the dim
light from the coach, the