vin' notions then--notions that I'd be playin'
her a lone hand."

"And now?" Haydon's eyes were steady with cold inquiry.

"I've got other notions. I'm acceptin' Deveny's invitation to throw in
with you."

Haydon was silent for an instant, and during the silence his gaze met
Harlan's fairly. By the humorous gleam in Harlan's eyes Haydon divined
that the man could not be misled--that he knew something of the situation
in the valley, and that he had come here with the deliberate intention of
joining the outlaw band.

There was, as Haydon had intimated, little use for an attempt at
equivocation or pretense. It was a situation that must be faced squarely
by both himself and Harlan. Harlan's reputation, and his action in
keeping secret from Barbara Morgan the identity of her father's murderer,
indicated sincerity on the man's part. And since Harlan knew him to be
the murderer of Morgan it would be absurd for Haydon to pretend that he
had no connection with Deveny's band. He could not fool this man.

Yet a jealous hatred of Harlan was thinly concealed by the steady smile
with which he regarded his visitor. He had felt the antagonism of Harlan
that day when he had talked with him at the bunkhouse door; Harlan's
manner that day had convinced him that Harlan was jealous of his
attentions to Barbara Morgan. Also, there was in his heart a professional
jealousy--jealousy of Harlan's reputation.

For this man who sat in his chair so calmly, with danger encompassing
him, was greater than he. Haydon knew it. Had there been any doubt in his
mind on that score it must have been removed by a memory of the manner in
which his men had received the news that Harlan had left the Rancho Seco
and was on his way up the valley.

The rider Harlan had seen had come in with that news--and Haydon had been
standing with the group at the bunkhouse when the man arrived. And he had
not failed to note the nervous glances of some of the men, and the
restless eagerness, not unmixed with anxiety, with which they watched the
trail.

And now, facing Harlan, he felt the man's greatness--his especial fitness
for the career he had adopted. Harlan was the ideal outlaw. He was cool,
deep, subtle. He was indomitable; he felt no fear; his will was
inflexible, adamant. Haydon felt it. The fear he had experienced at his
first meeting with Harlan had endured until this minute--it was strong as
ever.

Yet he admired the man; and knew that since he had come to