of the table, "civilizin' cowpunchers
is worse'n breakin' mustangs. They's some that say it can't be done.
But look at this crew. Do they look like rough uns?"

A stir had passed among the cowpunchers and solemn stares of hate
transfixed Lawlor, but he went on: "I'm askin' you, do these look
rough?"

"I should say," answered Bard courteously, "that you have a pretty
experienced lot of cattle-men."

"Experienced? Well, they'll pass. They've had experience with bar whisky
and talkin' to their cards at poker, but aside from bein' pretty much
drunks and crookin' the cards, they ain't anything uncommon. But when I
got 'em they was wild, they was. Why, if I'd talked like this in front
of 'em they'd of been guns pulled. But look at 'em now. I ask you: Look
at 'em now! Ain't they tame? They hear me call 'em what they are, but
they don't even bat an eye. Yes, sir, I've tamed 'em. They took a lot of
lickin', but now they're tamed. Hello!"

For through the door stalked a newcomer. He paused and cast a curious
eye up the table to Lawlor.

"What the hell!" he remarked naively. "Where's the chief?"

"Fired!" bellowed Lawlor without a moment of hesitation.

"Who fired him?" asked the new man, with an expectant smile, like one
who waits for the point of a joke, but he caught a series of strange
signals from men at the table and many a broad wink.

"I fired him, Gregory," answered Lawlor. "I fired Nash!"

He turned to Bard.

"You see," he said rather weakly, "the boys is used to callin' Nash 'the
chief.'"

"Ah, yes," said Bard, "I understand."

And Lawlor felt that he did understand, and too well.

Gregory, in the meantime, silenced by the mysterious signs from his
fellow cowpunchers, took his place and began eating without another
word. No one spoke to him, but as if he caught the tenseness of the
situation, his eyes finally turned and glanced up the table to Bard.

It was easy for Anthony to understand that glance. It is the sort of
look which the curious turn on the man accused of a great crime and
sitting in the court room guilty. His trial in silence had continued
until he was found guilty. Apparently, he was now to be both judged and
executed at the same time.

There could not be long delay. The entrance of Gregory had almost been
the precipitant of action, and though it had been smoothed over to an
extent, still the air was each moment more charged with suspense. The
men were lighting their second cigarette. Wi