She had halted at a little distance, crouching against the front of a building. And while she had been crouching there, trembling with a new apprehension, her pursuer had caught her. She had hardly been aware of him, and his grasp on her arm she had not resisted, so intense was her interest in what was transpiring. But the sudden ending of the affair brought again into her consciousness the recollection of her own peril, and when she saw Deveny cross the street she broke from the man's restraining grasp and ran to Harlan, convinced that he--because he seemed to be antagonistic toward the forces arrayed against her--would protect her. And now, shrinking into the open doorway of the sheriff's office, she watched breathlessly, with straining senses, the moving figures in the drama. Harlan had backed a little way toward the doorway in which Barbara stood. The movement was strategic, and had been accomplished with deliberation. He was facing Lamo's population--at least that proportion of it which was at home--with the comforting assurance that no part of it could get behind him. The gun he had drawn upon the approach of Barbara's pursuer was still in his right hand. It menaced no one, and yet it seemed to menace everyone within range of it. For though the gun was held loosely in Harlan's hand, the muzzle downward, there was a glow in the man's eyes that conveyed a warning. The smile on his face, too, was pregnant with the promise of violence. It was a surface smile, penetrating no deeper than his lips, and behind it, partially masked by the smile, the men in the group in the street could detect the destroying passion that ruled the man at this instant. Deveny, who had approached to a point within a dozen feet of Harlan, came to a slow, reluctant halt when he caught a glimpse of the strange glow in Harlan's eyes. All the others, Sheriff Gage included, likewise halted--most of them at a considerable distance, as their conceptions of prudence suggested. Harlan's grin grew ironic as he noted the pause--the concerted rigidity of Lamo's population. "Seems there's a heap of folks wantin' to palaver," he said lowly. "An' no one is crowdin' me. That's polite an' proper. Seems you all sort of guessed there's plenty of room, an' crowdin' ain't necessary. I'd thank every specimen to hook his thumbs in the armholes of his vest--same as though he's a member of the pussy-café outfit which I've seen in Chicago, makin' moon-eyes at girls. If there's any of you ain't got on vests, why, you can fasten your sky-hooks on your shoulders any way to suit your idee of safety. Get them up!" It seemed ludicrous to Barbara, despite the shadow of tragedy that lurked over it all--the embarrassed manner in which Lamo's citizens complied with the command, and the spectacle they presented afterward.