He had felt all along that sooner or later his enemies would over-reach themselves, leaving some weak spot through which he could attack, and he had been content to wait until that time, merely defending himself and his interests, planning no aggressive campaign.
The effect of the assaults of his enemies thus far had disturbed him little.

He had been able to anticipate most of their attacks and they had resulted in little harm to himself.

They had left him unperturbed, unharmed--like the attacks of an excitable poodle upon a giant, contemptuous mastiff.
Deep in his heart, though, lurked a spark of passion that, day by day, had been slowly growing, warming him, making his veins swell a little when his thoughts dwelt upon Warden and the others; bringing into his heart a savage longing that he often had yielded to in the old days--before he had learned to control his passions.

There were times when he was almost persuaded to break the laws for which he had fought in the old days--moments when it seemed to him that further toleration of the attacks of his enemies would be a sign of weakness.

But he had conquered those surges of passion, though the victory always left him with a smile on his face that would have awed Warden, had he seen it.
Something of that passion was in his heart now, as he rode toward the Circle L.It had become plain to him that Warden would adopt any means to destroy him; that in the man's heart was a malignant hatred that was driving him to a boldness that could mean nothing but that in the end they must settle their differences as man to man.