If Antrim expected him to come to his cabin, Antrim would be ready for him.

He might expect craft and cunning from the outlaw--an ambuscade, a trap--anything but the cold, sheer courage that would be required for him to face an enemy upon equal terms.

And so as Lawler rode he kept an alert eye upon the coverts and the shelters, upon the huge rocks that littered the sides of the trail, upon the big trees that Red King flashed past.
Nothing happened.

And Red King thundered down the trail where it doubled half a mile from the Dickman cabin, and swept out upon the level that surrounded the place, his speed unslackened, his rider still urging him.
Lawler had forgotten Shorty.

Half a mile behind him the giant's horse labored, making better time on the level river trail than he had made over the plains.