Back at the little level where the men were grouped there was a tension that seemed to charge the atmosphere with tragedy. Deveny's men sat silent in their saddles, watching their leader and Harlan with sullen, savage eyes. The T Down men, facing them, were equally sullen. Guns in hand, they alertly watched the men who were with Deveny, plainly determined that there should be no interference from them in the tragedy that seemed imminent. Rogers and his men, and the riders who had come with Colver, were also watching the Deveny group. All of these held weapons, too; and Rogers, who had dismounted, was standing beside his horse, a rifle resting on the saddle seat, his cheek snuggling the stock, the muzzle trained on Deveny. Harlan, Rogers, and the others, racing down the valley, had met Deveny and his men coming up. And when Deveny had recognized Harlan and the others he had quickly dismounted, bearing his unconscious burden. Because he felt that trouble would result from the meeting, Deveny had thrown Barbara from him. He had instantly forgotten the girl. For when Harlan came up Deveny saw a gleam in his eyes that sent his brain to throbbing with those unmistakable impulses of fear which had seized him the day, in Lamo, when Harlan had faced him. There had been a moment of silence when the two groups met; a stiffening of muscles and the heavy, strained breathing that, in men, tells of mental preparation for violence, swift and deadly. It had been Harlan who had prevented concerted action--action that would have brought about a battle in which all would have figured. His guns came out before the thought of trouble could definitely form in the brains of the Deveny men; and he had held them--the men in the saddles, Deveny standing--until the T Down men, whom he had seen from a distance, coming toward him, could arrive. Then, still menacing the Deveny men with weapons, he had dismounted to face Deveny--where he had been when Barbara Morgan had recovered consciousness. And while the girl had been stealing away he had been talking to Deveny, though loud enough for all of them to hear. There was about Harlan as this moment a threat that brought awe into the hearts of Deveny's men--a cold, savage alertness that told them, unmistakably, that the man's rage was at a pitch where the slightest movement by any of them would precipitate that action for which, plainly, Harlan longed. "So you got Barbara Morgan?" he said as he stood close to Deveny. There was a taunt in his voice, and an irony that made Deveny squirm with fury. And yet Deveny fought hard for composure. He could see in Harlan's manner something akin to what he had seen that day, in Lamo, when Harlan had baited him. His manner was the same, yet somehow it was not the same. There was this difference: