Antrim’s face was pale, and his voice was vibrant with emotion.  But he did not hesitate.

“Slade,” he said to the man he had left in charge; “I’ve changed my mind about those cattle.  Lawler has given me proof that none of our stock is with them.  I’m hittin’ the trail to Red Rock with Lawler.  You take the boys back to the ranch an’ wait for me.”

Slade’s eyes widened; he flushed and peered keenly at Antrim.  “You—­why, hell’s fire, Antrim; we——­”

“Slade, do as I tell you!” said Antrim, coldly.  “Are you runnin’ my affairs?  You hit the breeze, right now—­you hear me!”

Slade grinned venomously, and waved a violent hand around the circle.  “You hear your boss, boys!” he said; “Slope!”

The men hesitated an instant, sending sharp, incredulous glances at their leader.  But Antrim, pale, knowing that if he betrayed the slightest sign of insincerity his men would suspect, met their looks steadily.  The men wheeled their horses, muttering profanely, and rode slowly westward into the growing darkness.

When they had disappeared, Lawler smiled faintly at the outlaw chief.

“You can get down, now, Antrim.”  He drew the pistol from Red King’s mane, where it had been concealed during Antrim’s talk with his men, and sheathed it.  And then Blackburn, who had been a silent, amazed witness to what had occurred, whistled softly, covertly poking Shorty in the ribs.

“There’s one thing that’s as good as a vent, ain’t there, Shorty?” he said.  “That’s a gun in the hand of a man who’s got plenty of nerve!”

CHAPTER XV

CONCERNING AN OUTLAW

Early in the afternoon of the first day of December the sky darkened, and a cold, raw wind began to shriek through Willets.  The company corral was empty; and again, as on the day before Kane Lawler had visited him, Gary Warden stood at one of the windows of his office smiling.  Warden was almost satisfied.

Only one disturbing thought persistently recurred; Lawler had got his cattle through to Red Rock.

A crimson stain appeared in Warden’s cheeks as his thoughts reverted to Lawler’s return to Willets, after disposing of his cattle to the Red Rock buyer.  And Warden’s shoulders sagged a little, the smile faded and he glared malignantly at the bleak, gray clouds that sailed over town on the chill, bitter wind.

Oddly, at the instant Warden’s memory was dwelling upon the incident of Lawler’s return to Willets, Lafe Corwin, the storekeeper, was mentally reviewing the incident.

Willets was a cow-town, and for the winter its activity was over.  All the beef cattle in the section, with the exception of three thousand head still held by Lawler, at the Circle L, had been shipped eastward, and Willets would now descend to supine indifference to considerations of gain.

Lafe Corwin was tilted back in a big wooden chair near the big, roaring-hot stove in the lounging-room of the Willets Hotel.  His clerk could attend to the store.  Until spring came, Corwin would spend much of his leisure near the big stove in the hotel, talking politics and cattle—­two subjects of paramount importance.