"No!" The denial was blurted forth. Haydon grinned, faintly, with hideous embarrassment; the knowledge that he had been beaten, and that he owed his life to Harlan, was plain in his eyes. He laughed, uncertainly, as he made an effort to stiffen his lagging muscles. "I was a bit flustered, Harlan; I talked rather recklessly, I admit. You see, I've been used to giving orders myself. I was riled for a minute." "That goes!" said Harlan, shortly. His voice had changed. The slow drawl had gone, and a snapping, authoritative sharpness had replaced it. Haydon gazed at him with a new wonder. He sensed in Harlan's manner the consciousness of power, the determination to command. At a stroke, it seemed, Harlan had wrenched from him the right to rule. He felt himself being relegated to a subordinate position; he felt at this minute the ruthless force of the man who stood before him; he felt oddly impotent and helpless, and he listened to Harlan with a queer feeling of wonder for the absence of the rage that should have gripped him. "I'm runnin' things from now on," Harlan said. "I ain't interferin' with the Star. But I'm runnin' things for the boys. I told Rogers to drive the cattle to Willow's Wells--an' to sell them. I've promised the boys a bigger divvy. They get it. I've told them to take a day off, in town, after they turn the cattle over. "There's got to be a new deal. The boys are fussed up--claimin' they ain't gettin' their share. I'm seein' that they do. You can't run a camp like this an' not treat the boys right." The wonder that had been aroused in Haydon grew as Harlan talked; it increased in intensity until, when Harlan's voice died away, it developed into suspicion. That was what Harlan had come to the Star for! He wanted to run the camp, to direct the activities of the outlaws in the valley. Power! Authority! Those were the things Harlan craved for. Haydon saw it all, now. He saw that Harlan wanted to dominate--everything. He wanted to rule the outlaw camp; he wanted to run the Rancho Seco; he intended to get possession of the gold that Morgan had left, and he wanted Barbara Morgan. The rage that had held Haydon in its clutch when he had called Harlan to him was reviving. Haydon's face was still white, but the fury in his eyes--slowly growing--was not to be mistaken. Harlan saw it, and his lips straightened. He had expected Haydon would rage over what he had determined to tell him; and he was not surprised. He had deliberately goaded the man into his present fury. He had determined to kill him, and he had been disappointed when he had seen Haydon lose his courage when the crisis arrived. And now his deliberate and premeditated plan was to bear fruit.