And when Mart Cooley turned and Whitey saw his eyes, he got his thrill.

They were a hard, light, steely gray, and they looked out from lowered lids, oh, so steadily.

Months of brooding in the prison had helped to harden Mart's eyes, that had needed no help in that way; brooding over imaginary wrongs, for he thought his arrest an injustice.

Other men had stolen a few cows, and got away with them, but Mart was made to suffer, and came to think himself a victim.
Out in the barren waste of the Chinook Country, lonely and gloomy, Mart had planned vengeance.

But against whom?
No one man could fight the Government.