ho had never been crossed in
anything, and who was strong, brutal, passionate, which qualities in the
face of a situation like this made him simply a fool.

"I'm saying again, you used your ranger bluff just to get near Ray
Longstreth," Lawson sneered. "Mind you, if you come up there again
there'll be hell."

"You're right. But not the kind you think," Duane retorted, his voice
sharp and cold.

"Ray Longstreth wouldn't stoop to know a dirty blood-tracker like you,"
said Lawson, hotly. He did not seem to have a deliberate intention
to rouse Duane; the man was simply rancorous, jealous. "I'll call
you right. You cheap bluffer! You four-flush! You damned interfering,
conceited ranger!"

"Lawson, I'll not take offense, because you seem to be championing your
beautiful cousin," replied Duane, in slow speech. "But let me return
your compliment. You're a fine Southerner! Why, you're only a cheap
four-flush--damned, bull-headed RUSTLER!"

Duane hissed the last word. Then for him there was the truth in Lawson's
working passion-blackened face.

Lawson jerked, moved, meant to draw. But how slow! Duane lunged forward.
His long arm swept up. And Lawson staggered backward, knocking table and
chairs, to fall hard, in a half-sitting posture against the wall.

"Don't draw!" warned Duane.

"Lawson, git away from your gun!" yelled Laramie.

But Lawson was crazed with fury. He tugged at his hip, his face corded
with purple welts, malignant, murderous. Duane kicked the gun out of his
hand. Lawson got up, raging, and rushed out.

Laramie lifted his shaking hands.

"What'd you wing him for?" he wailed. "He was drawin' on you. Kickin'
men like him won't do out here."

"That bull-headed fool will roar and butt himself with all his gang
right into our hands. He's just the man I've needed to meet. Besides,
shooting him would have been murder."

"Murder!" exclaimed Laramie.

"Yes, for me," replied Duane.

"That may be true--whoever you are--but if Lawson's the man you think he
is he'll begin thet secret underground bizness. Why, Lawson won't sleep
of nights now. He an' Longstreth have always been after me."

"Laramie, what are your eyes for?" demanded Duane. "Watch out. And now
here. See your friend Morton. Tell him this game grows hot. Together you
approach four or five men you know well and can absolutely trust. I may
need your help."

Then Duane went from place to place, corner to corner, bar to bar,
watching, listening,