spread apart as if to meet a shock, his tawny head thrown back, and there was about him a hair-trigger sensitiveness, in spite of his bulk, a nervousness of hand and coldness of glance which characterizes the gun-fighter. Buck Daniels stepped closer, without a word, but one felt that he also had walked into the alliance. As Barry watched them the yellow which swirled in his eyes flickered away for a moment.
“Why, gents,” he murmured, “they ain't any call for trouble. The posse? What's that got to do with me? Our accounts are all squared up.”
The two stared dumbly.
“They killed Grey Molly; I killed one of them.”
“A horse—for a man?” repeated Lee Haines, breathing hard.
“A life for a life,” said Dan simply. “They got no call for complainin'.”
Glances of wonder, glances of meaning, flashed back and forth from Haines to Buck.
“Well, then,” said the latter, and he took in Kate with a caution from the corner of his eye, “if that's the case, let's sit down and chin for a minute.”
Dan stood with his head bowed a little, frowning; two forces pulled him, and Kate leaned against the wall off in the shadow with her eyes closed, waiting, waiting, waiting through the crisis.
“I'd like to stay and chin with you, Buck—but, I got to be off. Out there—in the night—something may happen before mornin'.” Black Bart licked the
