was vibrant. His hard eyes
brightened. With a quick jerk he drew the revolver from his belt and
dropped it to the floor at Carson's feet.

Carson, though he stooped for it quickly, did not shift his watchful
eyes from Trevors. For Carson had known more fights in his life than
he had years; he knew men, and looked to Trevor for just the sort of
thing Trevors did.

As Lee stepped forward, Trevors snatched open the drawer of the table
at his side, quick as light, and whipped out the weapon which lay there.

"Go slow, Trevors!" came old Carson's dry voice. "I've got you covered
already, two-gun style."

Trevors, even with his finger crooking to the trigger, paused and saw
the two guns in Carson's brown hands trained unwaveringly upon him.
There was much deadly determination in Carson's eyes. Again Trevors
laughed, drawing back his empty hand.

"You yellow dog!" grunted Bud Lee, his tone one of supreme disgust.
"You damned yellow dog!"

Trevors shrugged.

"You see, gentlemen--two to one, with the odds all theirs."

"You lie!" spat out Carson. "It's one to one an' I see the game goes
square." He stepped forward, removed the weapon from the table under
Trevors's now suddenly changeful eyes, and went back to his place with
his back to the wall.

"For God's sake!" cried the one nervous man in the room, he who had
opened the door. "This is murder!"

Melvin smiled, a smile as cheerless as the gleam of wintry starlight on
a bit of glass.

"Will you fight him, Trevors?" he asked. "With your hands?"

"Yes," answered Trevors. "Yes."

"Move back the table," commanded Melvin, on his feet in an instant.
"And the chairs. Get them back."

The table was dragged to the far end of the room; the chairs were piled
upon it.

"Now," and Melvin's watch was in his hand, his voice coming with
metallic coldness, "it's to a finish, is it? Three-minute rounds, fair
fighting, no----"

But now at last Bayne Trevors's blood was up, his slow anger had
kindled, he was moving his feet restlessly.

"Damn it," he shouted, "whose fight is this but mine and Lee's? If he
wants a fight, let him come and get it; a man's fight and rules and
rounds and time be damned! Am I to dance around here and sidestep and
fence just for you to look on? . . . Carson!"

"Well?" said Carson.

"Lee challenges me, doesn't he? Then I'm the man to name the sort of
fight, am I not? Is that fair?"

"Meaning just what?" asked Carson.

"Meanin