ot strong, but his eyes were steady, watchful.

Las Vegas quivered all over as if stung. A flame that seemed white and
red gave his face a singular hue.

"Jeff, you worked for old Al a long time, an' I've heard of your
differences," said Las Vegas. "Thet ain't no mix of mine.... But you
double-crossed Miss Helen!"

Mulvey made no attempt to deny this. He gulped slowly. His hands
appeared less steady, and he grew paler. Again Las Vegas's words
signified less than his look. And that look now included the Mexican.

"Pedro, you're one of Beasley's old hands," said Las Vegas, accusingly.
"An'--you was one of them four greasers thet--"

Here the cowboy choked and bit over his words as if they were a material
poison. The Mexican showed his guilt and cowardice. He began to jabber.

"Shet up!" hissed Las Vegas, with a savage and significant jerk of
his arm, as if about to strike. But that action was read for its true
meaning. Pell-mell the crowd split to rush each way and leave an open
space behind the three.

Las Vegas waited. But Mulvey seemed obstructed. The Mexican looked
dangerous through his fear. His fingers twitched as if the tendons
running up into his arms were being pulled.

An instant of suspense--more than long enough for Mulvey to be tried and
found wanting--and Las Vegas, with laugh and sneer, turned his back upon
the pair and stepped to the bar. His call for a bottle made Turner jump
and hold it out with shaking hands. Las Vegas poured out a drink, while
his gaze was intent on the scarred old mirror hanging behind the bar.

This turning his back upon men he had just dared to draw showed what
kind of a school Las Vegas had been trained in. If those men had been
worthy antagonists of his class he would never have scorned them. As it
was, when Mulvey and the Mexican jerked at their guns, Las Vegas swiftly
wheeled and shot twice. Mulvey's gun went off as he fell, and the
Mexican doubled up in a heap on the floor. Then Las Vegas reached around
with his left hand for the drink he had poured out.

At this juncture Dale burst into the saloon, suddenly to check his
impetus, to swerve aside toward the bar and halt. The door had not
ceased swinging when again it was propelled inward, this time to admit
Helen Rayner, white and wide-eyed.

In another moment then Las Vegas had spoken his deadly toast to
Beasley's gang and had fiercely flung the glass at the writhing Mexican
on the floor. Also Dale had gravitated to