in society of Nearing and the superintendent of the Diamond Tail.
Outside the crime of murder there were few in the code of the range to give a man concern, cattle stealing alone excepted. In the cattle barons' law that offense transcended all others. That was a crime which called for no trial. Condemnation went with the very discovery; sentence was outstanding against every member of that accursed and driven tribe.
So it came down at last in Barrett's conclusion that Nearing had been a rustler in his day, involved with Findlay, perhaps. Should Findlay betray him, Nearing might swing as the most despicable of outlaws on some bleak-limbed cottonwood at the river side. It must be that. There was not room for any other fear so great in the heart of a man who had faced so long the perils and hardships of the range.
Findlay alone must share this secret with Nearing, or it would not be a weapon of such force in his hands. Divide it between three men, or five, and it would grow correspondingly weaker. Nearing had not said'the secret was Findlay's alone, but his manner had justified that conclusion. He was ready, anxious, to do murder to free himself of the driving hand; he plotted against Findlay's life with the craft of a man seeking to destroy a cattle-killing beast, notorious for a hundred miles.
Barrett could picture that grim chase, that stalking, that tireless riding, that wait and watch for an unguarded moment. He could see the dark sneer of the hunted man's face, who rode in confidence, defiant, without fear, hedged around by watchful eyes. Nearing
