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From the front windows of the Wolf Saloon, Slade, the violent-mannered rider whom Blondy Antrim had left in charge of his men the night he had ridden away from the desert camp fire to hold a conference with Lawler near the trail herd, had watched Sheriff Moreton lope his horse into the soft southern twilight. Slade was a young man, tall, swarthy, reckless-eyed.
Then Blondy went for his gun, and Vic waited with his hand on the butt of his own, waited with a perfect, cold foreknowledge, heard Blondy moan as his Colt hung in the holster, saw the flash of the barrel as it whipped out, and then jerked his own weapon and fired from the hip.
Even Vic's mind carried no burden to oppress him in care for the future or regret for the past, for if he occasionally remembered the limp body of Hansen on the floor of Captain Lorrimer's saloon he could shrug the picture into oblivion. It had been fair fight, man to man, with all the odds in favor of Blondy, who had been allowed to pull his gun first.
She touched Joe's arm. "Joe! Joe!" she whispered. He did not answer; his hand moved a little and dropped. How soundly he slept! She smiled then, and sat forward, determined to be a brave woman. Then glancing through the netting she spied Blondy and his friends laughing together. She saw the evil monkey eyes.
On the left you are suddenly confronted by a stalagmitic formation so large and so grand that all others are dwarfed into insignificance. You think of the dome of the Capitol at Washington. You are standing at the sloping base but cannot see the top. Just here the guide announces in an awestruck voice 'Blondy's Throne. And who is Blondy?
Warden spent the night in town. And after midnight, in a room at the rear of the Wolf Saloon when the sounds of the night's revelry were becoming fainter he sat at a table with Singleton and Blondy Antrim, talking in low tones. At eight o'clock in the morning Warden stepped into the door of Sheriff Moreton's office.
"So he wouldn't do business with you, eh? I knowed it, an' I've been gettin' ready. Ha, ha! He'll wish he had. Blondy Antrim rode in as far as Kinney's cañon last night. I met him an' had a long talk with him. He's keen for it says he admires any guy which can plan a thing that big. Grinned like a hyena when I told him the big guys back of it wouldn't let any law interfere.
At first we saw two or three deer together, and then we came upon them feeding like herds of cattle, literally hundreds of them. They were all bucks. Blondy said the does were still back in the deep woods with their fawns. We reached the Diamond Bar Ranch just as supper was ready, and the cowboys invited us to eat. Two big Dutch ovens were piled with live coals before the fireplace.
Singleton laughed deeply. "You might call it that. Blondy an' his gang are runnin' this man's town, right now! They've got Moreton scared, looks like! He's layin' mighty low, an' keepin' his trap shut. Blondy's got a mighty tough gang a bunch of hoppin', howlin' tarantulas, straight from hell!
First there's Blondy Antrim; an' now Link an' Givens cuttin' the fence. When you goin' to cut loose an' give 'em hell, Boss?" "Hell is closer than you think, Shorty," said Lawler, gravely. When the storm broke Warden had shown by his actions that he was more concerned over Link and Givens than over Della Wharton.
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