The other Circle L men had drawn their weapons, too.

But Shorty dominated.

It was upon him that all eyes turned; it was upon his crimson, rage-lined face that every man looked.
He was a figure of gigantic proportions--a mighty man in the grip of the blood-lust.
"You guys stand.

Every damned one of you! Don't move a finger or bat an eyelash! I've come a-killin'!" he said in a low, tense voice, the words coming with a snap, jerkily, like the separate and distinct lashes of a whip.
Not a man in the room moved, nor did their fascinated eyes waver for an instant from Shorty's face.
"Where's Slade ?" He shot the words at them.

He saw their eyes waver for an instant from his and they looked toward the stairs in the rear--the stairs that Ruth Hamlin had seen when for an instant after throwing the door of the room open she had glanced down to see the room full of men, all looking at her.
The concentrated gazing of the men at the stairs told Shorty what he wanted to know.