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They've got you between them, an' if you bat an eyewinker they'll down you. I'm goin' to gas to you I'm goin' to tell you what I think of you for ropin' me an' draggin' me back to Willets, to show to the damned yaps on the station platform. An' after that I'm goin' to hog-tie you an' Ah!" Antrim's exclamation was a mere gasp.
Of Antrim's Irish contingent, which was to have been in the West Highlands by the 1st of April, there were no tidings; and Scotland all to the north of Dumfries was full of Covenanters now alarmed and alert. To try to dash through these at all hazards, so as to lodge himself in the Highlands, was his thought for a moment; but he had to give up the attempt as impossible.
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.
Still less were they forgotten at home. Throughout the Irish land, from Antrim's rocky coast to the foam-beaten headlands of Cork, the hearts of their countrymen were convulsed with passionate grief and indignation, and, blended with the sharp cry of agony that broke from the nation's lips, came the murmurs of defiant hatred, and the pledges of a bitter vengeance.
Though Antrim's fingers were gripping her arms until the pain made her long to cry out in agony, she made no sound. Nor now that she realized what portended did her gaze waver as it met Antrim's. Her eyes glowed with contempt as they looked into his with a proud scorn that brought a crimson flush into Antrim's cheeks.
They were Antrim's constant companions, except when the necessities of his trade drove the outlaw to work alone. They knew his whims and understood his methods. Now, as Antrim paused near the table and looked at them, Krell smiled evilly. "I reckon we'll be settin' here twirlin' our thumbs till the outfit gits back?" he suggested. Antrim laughed.
Shorty's voice broke; his lips quivered; his voice rose to a screech of impotent, awful rage. Brokenly, he told Lawler what had happened after the stampeding of the cattle by Antrim's men. He related, in tumbling, rapid, quavering sentences, how he had got the help Blackburn had sent him for Caldwell's outfit with the exception of two men who had been sent in different directions to other ranches.
There had come no change in the positions of the outlaws or of the Circle L men. And when Antrim and Lawler rode up there was a silence during which the men of both factions looked interrogatively at their leaders. 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.
At the third attempt he blurted: "Lawler, Antrim's gang has cleaned up the Circle L! Damn their sneakin', dirty hides! They've run off our cattle takin' 'em through Kinney's cañon! They've wiped out the Circle L outfit! Blackburn's left Blackburn an' three more poor fellows they plugged, an' didn't finish! "Blackburn made me ride for help damn him, anyway, Lawler! I wanted to stay with the bunch!"
Antrim's manner exuded the insolent tolerance of the master, who has the confidence that comes from thoughts of an overwhelming advantage. He knew Lawler; knew him as perhaps no other man in the section knew him. For he had seen Lawler using his gun.
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