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Directed at the town it relieved the pressure of their resentment over Trevison's habit of depending upon himself. For, secretly, both were interested admirers of Manti's growing importance. Time was measured by their desires. Sometime before midnight Barkwell got up, yawned and stretched. "Sleep suits me. If 'Firebrand' ain't reckonin' on a guardian, I ain't surprisin' him none.
The group of deputies had halted; they were sitting tense and silent in their saddles when the Diamond K outfit came up, slowing down as they drew nearer, and halting within ten feet of the others, spreading out in a crude semi-circle, so that each man had an unobstructed view of the deputies. Barkwell had no chance to talk.
Half an hour later the entire outfit twenty men besides Barkwell and Weaver left the ranchhouse and spread, fan-wise, over the plains west of Manti. They lost all sense of time. Several of them had ridden to Manti, making a round of the places that were still open, but had returned, with no word of Trevison. Corrigan had claimed to have seen him.
Barkwell pulled his horse to a sliding halt as he saw the figure on the pueblo, outlined distinctly in the clear white light of the dawn. "He's all right!" he declared to the others as they followed his example and drew their beasts down. "Them's some of the scum that's been after him," he added as several horsemen swept around the far side of the pueblo.
She heard Trevison's voice, muttering in protest, but his words, like her shriek, were lost in the confusion of sound. She saw him fling his arms wide, sending Barkwell and another man reeling from him; he reached for the pistol at his side and leveled it at the crowd. Those nearest him shrank, their faces blank with fear and astonishment.
It was the insensate, raging fury of the fight-madness that had gripped him, and he suddenly yielded to it and raised his head, laughing harshly, with panting, labored breath. Barkwell rode up to him, speaking hoarsely: "We come pretty near wipin' 'em out, 'Firebrand!" He looked up at his foreman, and the latter's face blanched. "God!" he said.
"The payment of this money for the right-of-way removes the provocation for trouble," he laughed. "Barkwell," he directed, turning to the foreman; "you may go back to the outfit." He looked after the foreman as the latter rode away, turning presently to Rosalind. "If you will wait a few minutes, until I stow this money in a safe place, I'll ride back to the cut with you and pull the boys off."
His six-shooter stabbed the darkness at the last word. And at his side Weaver's pistol barked viciously. But the deputies had started at the word "One," and though Barkwell, noting the scurrying of their horses, cut the final words sharply, the four figures were vague and shadowy when the first pistol shot smote the air. Not a report floated back to the ears of the two men.
Barkwell, the foreman, watching him, drew great, long breaths of sympathy and excitement. "Shall I get the boys an' go after them damn sneaks?" he questioned, his voice tremulous. "We'll clean 'em out smoke 'em out of the county!" he threatened. He started for the door. "Wait!" Trevison had conquered the first surge of passion; his grin was cold and bitter as he crossed glances with his foreman.
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