His quick furtive eye fell upon an envelope on the floor. He picked it up. Upon it was written, "Miss Ferne Yarnell," and in the corner, "Introducing Miss Lee." A muscle twitched in his face. When he looked up there was an expression of devilish malignity on it. "Mr. Bellamy's handwriting, looks like." He turned to the Arizona girl. "Then I didn't put the fellow out of business." "No, you coward." The angry color crept to the roots of his hair. "Better luck next time." The door knob rattled. Someone outside was trying to get in. Those inside the room paid no obvious attention to him. The venomous face of the cattle detective held the women fascinated. "When Dick Bellamy ambushed Shep he made a hell of a bad play of it. My old mammy used to say that the Boones were born wolves. I can see where she was right. The man that killed my brother gets his one of these days and don't you forget it. You just stick around. We're due to shoot this thing out, him and me," the man continued, his deep-socketed eyes burning from the grim handsome face. "Open the door," ordered a voice from the hall, shaking the knob violently. "You don't know he killed your brother. Someone else may have done it. And it may have been done in self defence," the Arkansas girl said to Boone in a voice so low and reluctant that it appeared the words were wrung from her by torture. "Think I'm a buzzard head? Why for did he run away? Why did he jump for the sandhills soon as the word came to arrest him?" He snapped together his straight, thin-lipped mouth, much as a trap closes on its prey. A heavy weight hurtled against the door and shook it to the hinges. Melissy had been edging to the right. Now with a twist of her lissom body she had slipped past the furious man and turned the key. Jack Flatray came into the room. His glance swept the young women and fastened on the man. In the crossed eyes of the two was the thrust of rapiers, the grinding of steel on steel, that deadly searching for weakness in the other that duelists employ. The deputy spoke in a low soft drawl. "Mornin', Boone. Holding an executive session, are you?" The lids of the detective narrowed to slits. From the first there had been no pretense of friendship between these two. There are men who have only to look once at each other to know they will be foes. It had been that way with them. Causes of antagonism had arisen quickly enough. Both dominant personalities, they had waged silent unspoken warfare for the leadership of the range. Later over the favor of Melissy Lee this had grown more intense, still without having ever been put into words. Now they were face to face, masks off. "Why yes, until you butted in, Mr. Sheriff." "This isn't my busy day. I thought I'd just drop in to the meeting." "You've made a mistake. We're not holding a cattle rustlers' convention."