"An' now they've finally got me. I've got a little of the gold in my pocket now--here it is." He drew out a small buckskin bag and passed it to Harlan, who took it and held it loosely in his hands, not taking his gaze from Morgan. "Keep a-goin'," suggested Harlan. "Interested, eh?" grinned Morgan; "I knowed you'd be. Well, here I am--I didn't get to the assay office at Pardo; an' I'll never get there now." He paused and then went on: "Now they're after Barbara, my daughter. Deveny--an' Strom Rogers, an' some more--all of them, I reckon. I ought to have got out long ago. But it's too late now, I reckon. "That damned Deveny--he's a wolf with women. Handsome as hell, with ways that take with most any woman that meets him. An' he's as smooth an' cold an' heartless as the devil himself. He ain't got no pity for nobody or nothin'. An' Strom Rogers runs him a close second. An' there's more of them almost as bad. "They watch every trail that runs from the Rancho Seco to--to anywhere. If I ride north there's someone watchin' me. If I ride south there's a man on my trail. If I go east or west I run into a man or two who's takin' interest in me. When I go to Lamo, there'll be half a dozen men strike town about the same time. "I can't prove they are Deveny's men--but I know it, for they're always around. An' it's the same way with Barbara--she can't go anywhere without Deveny, or Rogers--or some of them--ain't trailin' her. "As I said, the sheriff can't do anything--or he won't. He looks worried when I meet him, an' gets out of my way, for fear I'll ask him to do somethin'. "That's the way it stands. An' now Barbara will have to play it a lone hand against them. Bill Morgan--that's my son--ain't home. He's gallivantin' around the country, doin' some secret work for the governor. Somethin' about rustlers an' outlaws. He ought to be home now, to protect Barbara. But instead he's wastin' his time somewheres else when he ought to be here--in Lamo--where's there's plenty of the kind of guys he's lookin' for. "There's only one man in the country I trust. He's John Haydon, of the Star ranch--about fifteen miles west of the Rancho Seco. Seems to me that Haydon's square. He's an upstandin' man of about thirty, an' he's dead stuck on Barbara. Seems to me that if it wasn't for Haydon, Deveny, or Lawson, or Rogers, or some of them scum would have run off with Barbara long ago. "You see how she shapes up?" he queried as he watched Harlan's face. "Looks bad for Barbara," said Harlan slowly. Morgan writhed and was silent for a time.