"Yes, I drove him out here! He might never have come back, if it hadn't been for me. I ... Nobody else knows this, Benny; maybe nobody ever will but you, but I've got to make you understand. He ... She ... His wife's been in town a month. She come out here to throw herself away on that rat, when she don't ... when she hates him. "I can't tell you all of it, but yesterday he saw her for th' first time. "He must have raised hell with her ... because of me, because I've known she was out here and didn't tell him. He took her away an' she ... sent for me.... "Don't you see that I'm to blame? Hell, it's no use hidin' it; he took her off to get her away from me! He's bringin' her here, th' nearest place to a home he's got. If 't wasn't for me, he wouldn't have started for this place; he'd stayed there. Don't you see, Benny, that I'm drivin' him into your hands. You may be justified in killin', but I ain't justified ... in helpin' you!" "If it's that way ... between she an' you ... you'd ought to be glad....' "Not that way!" Bayard exclaimed. "Not that, Benny! He's everything you've called him, but I can't foul him. I've got to be more'n square with him because he is ... her husband an' because she did ... send for me!" For a moment the miner seemed to waver; a different look appeared in his eyes, an appreciation for the absolute openness of this man before him, his great sense of fair play, his honesty, his sincerity. Then, he remembered that minutes had been consumed, that his game was drawing to a climax. "I can't help it," he said, doggedly, drawing back, "We understand each other now, Bruce, an' my advice to you is to clear out. Things'll happen right soon." "What do you mean?" slowly, with incredulity. "Don't you know they wasn't a mile behind you, on th' other side of them low bluffs?" Bayard half turned, sharply, as though he expected to find Ann and Lytton directly behind him on the trail. "God, no!" he answered in a hushed tone. "Rough country, that's why I didn't see 'em." "Well, that's them ... a man an' woman. They ought to be here any minute." Lynch's voice sank to a whisper on the last and he drew the gun from its scabbard, peering down the trail, listening. On sight of the colt, a flicker came into Bayard's eyes, his jaw tightened, his shoulders squared themselves. "I'll go down an' meet him," the miner said quite calmly, though the color had gone even from his lips. "It's ..." With a drive of his hand, Bayard's fingers fastened on the gun and the jerk he gave the weapon tore Lynch from his footing. "You'll not, Benny!"--in a whisper, securing the gun, and flinging it into the brush behind him, gripping the other man by his shirt front, "You won't, by God, if I have to choke you black in the face!" Lynch drew back against the cabin wall, struggling to free himself. "It's my fight, Bruce!" ... breathing in gasps, eyes wide, voice strained almost to the point of sobbing.