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! Blondy's still raw from that deal Lawler handed him when he brought him here an' dumped him down on the platform, tellin' you Blondy was his 'vent.' Blondy swears he'll kill Lawler for that, an' I'm bankin' that he makes a strong play for a killin'.

There's red in Blondy's eyes when he talks about Lawler!" Warden smiled evilly.

"That's Lawler's lookout," he said, venomously; "he ought to be man enough to take care of himself.

Let's take a look around." With Singleton beside him, Warden visited half a dozen saloons and dance halls; smiling as he noted the bepistoled cowboys who were swaggering in and out of doorways and on the sidewalk--strangers to him, but not to Singleton, who grinned and nodded to them as they passed.
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.
Warden's face was pale, and he smiled mirthlessly at Moreton, who was standing near a desk looking over some papers.
Moreton looked keenly at his visitor.