ut towards Sorenson.

"Do you hear?" he asked.

"Madden, you've too much sense to believe all this trumped-up libel!"
Sorenson exclaimed furiously. "About us, respected leaders of this
town! Arrest the blackguard!"

Even facing assured proof of his complicity and guilt, the cattleman
still believed in the power of his wealth and influence, in his
ability to browbeat opponents, to command the man he had elected to
office, to dominate and ruthlessly crush by sheer will power all
resistance, as he had done for years.

"I take no orders from you," the sheriff replied.

"Well, I suppose I can empty the till and lock the safe before going?"
Vorse questioned.

"No. Keep in front of the bar where you are," the sheriff commanded.

"And have everything stolen."

"Your bar-keeper will be back presently. He will look after things for
you."

"You say Burkhardt is locked up?"

"Yes."

"That will hurt his pride," Vorse laughed. "He always swore that no
one should put him behind bars. He wouldn't have minded so much
finishing in a gun-fight, but to serve a term in prison would surely
go against the grain with Burk. Though I think with Sorenson----"

Weir's eyes had never left the speaker. Through the other's
inconsequential talk and apparently careless acceptance of the fact of
arrest the engineer had noted the tense gathering of the man's body.

"Put your hands up," he interrupted at this point.

Vorse had uttered no following word after speaking Sorenson's name;
his voice terminated abruptly. At the same instant his right hand flew
to his holster and whipped out his gun. It was the advantageous time
for which he had waited, for Madden's look which had been moving back
and forth from Vorse to Sorenson so as to cover both had passed to the
latter. And Weir's weapon was undrawn.

But if Vorse drew fast, the engineer's motion was like a flash of
light. His weapon leaped on a level with the other's breast. The
report sounded a second before that of Vorse's and three before
Madden's, who also had fired.

Then, if ever, Steele Weir had displayed his amazing speed in beating
an enemy to his gun, for Vorse had indeed been quick, keyed by a
knowledge that for him this meant imprisonment or freedom, a slow
death or liberty.

For a minute he stood half crouching as he had been at the instant of
shooting, his eyes glaring balefully at his enemy and the thin cruel
smile on his lips, while the two men in front stood warily wa