A light glowed through a window in one of the buildings--the largest--and toward this the men rode, dropping from their horses at the door and filing silently inside.
In a big room, from which came the light the riders had seen, were many other men.
Antrim, his bronzed face almost the hue of copper in the glare from the lamp that stood on a table, was sitting in a chair near the door.

Some of the men inside were on their feet, expectant, suspicious.

They grinned when they recognized the newcomers, calling variously to them in greeting.
Antrim got to his feet when he saw Slade at the door, looking at him expectantly.

When Slade grinned, telling Antrim that Moreton had ridden south, Antrim's eyes glittered with satisfaction.
"Selden!" he ordered, sharply; "you slope for the Circle L trail an' watch it! When you see Moreton an' Lawler headin' toward town, you fan it here in a hurry!" A tall man with two guns sagging at his hips leaped to the door and plunged out.

In the silence that followed his departure, they could hear the thudding of hoofs that marked his going.
Antrim grinned coldly around at the other men.
"We'll clean up on Lawler tonight, boys," he said.