scraped, and somebody ran across a squeaking floor. When he pushed the doors aside a still, quiet scene was before him.
He never previously had paid the Wells a visit; nor was he prepared for the drab, lackluster sullenness of this saloon. All lights were pitched low, and the flutter of untrimmed wicks gave to the fetid, smoke-ridden atmosphere a palpitating uneasiness. A long bar ran across one end of the room; the rest of it held a stove, many chairs, and a few decrepit tables. In this space Denver's swift observation noted about thirty people, a half dozen of which were women. And behind the bar stood a coal-black giant whose palms pressed the weight of his torso downward on the mahogany while he blinked at Denver. One of the women laughed, the sound like a slap in Denver's face. He stepped aside and spoke to the barkeep.
"Send for Redmain."
The barkeep held his answer for a long, insolent minute. "He ain't here."
"You lie," said Denver evenly. "His horse stands outside. Send for him."
"If you know so much, go get him y'self, mister."
"Tell him Dave Denver is down here and proposes to see him."
The barkeep held his tongue. A girl slipped quietly out of a door, and such was the silence that the noise of her heels going up some invisible stairway echoed blankly back. The thick, miasmatic breath of hostility rose all around him; he saw their eyes glittering on him, he saw the predatory hunger of their desire. Yet they said nothing and he stood posted against the wall until another door opened and Lou Redmain came quietly in.
"Glad to see you, Dave," said the man, triangular face blurred in the haze.
"I reckon this is the chief's palace and these gentlemen and ladies his principal people," observed Denver.
Redmain let the bite of that sarcasm go by unnoticed. "For my purpose," said he softly, "they do me very well."
"One of 'em didn't," stated Denver, an increasing chill in his words. "One of them ran a misbranded Fee cow onto my range and made a bad job of it. He's of no further use to you."
The room began to rustle with repressed talk. "Bury the fool, and I'll do you a return favor some day," said Redmain, still unmoved.
Some of the heedless, reckless anger rose again in Denver. "Am I to understand you're accepting the responsibility for that act, Redmain?"
Redmain moved across the room. "Listen, Dave," he answered: "there are considerable people who'd like to see either one of us out of the road. Be pretty easy, wouldn't it, for any such person to rig a thing like this?"
"He was your man."
"And if he was alive I'd kill him!" exclaimed Redmain, letting go. The slim body swayed. "I gave you my word in Sundown I'd stay clear of you! I meant that!"
"It was a Fee cow," added Denver.
Redmain's face shifted expression rapidly.
"Don't miss much, do you? Well, what if I have got some Fee cows? I ain't got all of them. That critter could have come from any other direction as well as from my territory."
"Could but didn't," was Denver's terse reply. "It came out of this country."
Redmain stood silent, studying Denver closely. Presently he shook his head. "That too is possible. I won't say I can trust every man I've got. You know and I know that none of us can see everything going on around here. From now on neither you nor I can prevent cross plays. It won't get any better. It'll get worse. Men are after me. And whether you know it or not, men are after you. I have never been on your trail, and I repeat I never will be on it."
"I'm not sure I know your limit," said Denver thoughtfully.
"I've got no limit. The sky's my limit."
"When a man talks like that," Denver shot back, "he draws the line nowhere. And he'll respect nothing."
Redmain's face darkened. "You've got my word," he repeated. "I recall you drank with me when no other cattleman in this county would be seen in the same saloon with me."
"Let it be so," agreed Denver. "I came here to tell you, however, that I am fully prepared to take care of myself and my interests. If the time comes when your interests run counter to mine then I can no longer stand aside."
"We will never fight over that," interposed Redmain quickly.
But Denver broke bluntly through. "At your rate of speed it's entirely possible we may lock horns."
"I should hate to see that day come."
"Maybe, maybe not. Men change; times change. I came here to let you know exactly how I stand on the subject. One more thing, Lou. If Leverage goes down and you are back of it, neither heaven nor hell will be big enough for both of us."
"I doubt if heaven will see either of us. Hell is big enough for all."
Their talk dropped suddenly off and tension of their meeting began to oppress all others in the room to the point of restlessness. Moments dragged by, the rugged and powerful Denver looking down at Redmain's slighter figure with a driving intentness the outlaw had never before experienced. Then Denver moved toward the door.
"If you disclaim responsibility for that business," was his final word, "I'll accept it. I'm not joinin' the pack against you because there's something tellin' me most of the time that but for a turn of the card I might be in your shoes and you in mine. However, when a man flies high, he covers considerable territory—sometimes other people's. Consider it, Lou."
Redmain stood at the swinging doors, watching Denver pass out and ride from the street. A pallor crept around his mouth and nostrils and some dreadful storm of feeling shook him terrifically. He turned on his heels, half ran across the room, ripped open an inner door, and paused only to lift one hand at a loitering henchman. The man came quickly into the half dark hall.
"Go after him!" breathed Redmain.
"Get him, yuh mean."
"No, damn you, follow him! See where he goes!"
"Why not get him, chief?"
"Because I told you not to! Because I am not ready! Because I don't want him killed around my territory! Get out of here!" And, still shaken, he passed up the stairs to his room and tramped around it endlessly while the rising clamor from the saloon came brokenly to him.
JUDICIAL MEASURES
"If yuh want to see somethin' rich, ripe, and rare," proclaimed Steve Steers, bursting into Grogan's, "come over to the courthouse."
This being on a Saturday afternoon, Grogan's was crowded and lively. The gentlemen to whom Steve addressed his remarks—Denver, Steele, and the Englishman—were considering the state of the nation at one corner of the bar, a bottle conveniently disposed at their elbows.
"Nothing less than murder could interest anybody in Yellow Hill these days," replied Cal Steele amiably. "Have a drink and forget your sorrows."
"It's
