And the atmosphere of the place seemed to be pregnant with a lurking threat, a hint of hidden danger.
He grinned as he plunged Red King to the door of the cabin--a grin which meant that he expected Antrim would be waiting for him, but which expressed his contempt of ambuscades and traps.
As he slipped from Red King he drew his pistol and lunged forward, bringing up against the cabin door and sending it crashing inward, against the wall.
He halted just inside the door, his pistol rigid in his right hand, which was pressed tightly to his side; for directly in front of him, standing, his arms folded over his chest, was Antrim, a huge, venomous grin on his face.
"Well, you got here, Lawler," he said, huskily.

"You come a-runnin', didn't you?
Well, I had your cattle run off, an' I burned your buildin's.

What are you aimin' to do about it ?" Lawler did not move.

He might have killed Antrim, for the man's weapon was in the holster at his hip--Lawler could see the stock sticking above the leather.

He had expected Antrim would be in the cabin when he opened the door; he anticipated that the outlaw would shoot on sight, and he had been prepared to do the same.
But there was something in the outlaw's manner, in the cold, measured tone of his voice, in his nonchalant disregard of the pistol in Lawler's hand that brought a swift suspicion into Lawler's mind.