Harlan's method of assuming control of the Rancho Seco had been direct and simple. When the twenty-seven men of the outfit had straggled into the yard surrounding the big corral--the chuck-wagon, bearing the cook and his assistant, trailing a little behind, and followed by the horses of the _remuda_ with the wrangler hurling vitriolic language in the rear--Harlan was standing beside Purgatory near the corral fence in front of one of the bunkhouses. He had paid--apparently--no attention to the men as they dismounted, unsaddled, and turned their horses into the corral, and he did not even look at the belligerent-eyed cook whose sardonic glance roved over him. But the men of the outfit watched him out of the corners of their eyes; as they passed him to go to the bunkhouses, they shot inquiring, speculating glances at one another, full of curiosity, not unmixed with astonishment over his continued silence. It was when, drawn by the wonder that consumed them, they gathered in a group near the door of one of the bunkhouses, that Harlan moved toward them. For he had noted that they had become grouped, and that into the atmosphere had come a tension. Harlan's actions had been governed by design. His continued silence had been strategy of a subtle order. It had attracted the attention of the men, it had intrigued their interest. If he had spoken to them while they had been moving about on their different errands, telling them that henceforth he was to manage the Rancho Seco, they would have given him scant attention. Also, he would not have been able to study their faces as he had studied them while they had been watching him, and he would not have gained the knowledge of their characters that he now possessed. Besides, a humorous malice possessed Harlan--he wanted to view them collectively when he gave them his news, to note the various ways in which they would receive it. Absolute silence greeted Harlan's forward movement. He could hear the labored breathing of some of the men--men of violent temper who sensed trouble--and his grin grew broad as he halted within a dozen feet of the group. "Boys," he said, slowly, "you've got a new boss. It's me. A day or so ago, crossin' from Pardo, I run into a ruckus at Sentinel Rock. Lane Morgan was the center of the ruckus--an' he got perforated--plenty. But before he cashed in he got a gleam of downright sense an' told me he'd been lookin' for me, to make me manager of the Rancho Seco. "I'm reckonin' to be manager--beginnin' now. If there's any of you men that ain't admirin' to do the jumpin' when I yap orders to you, you're doin' your gassin' right now. Them that's pinin' to work under me is sure of a square deal, beginnin' now, and continuin' henceforth. I reckon that's all." Into Harlan's eyes as he talked had come that vacuous light that had been in them when he had faced Deveny's men in Lamo--the light that was always in his eyes whenever he faced more than one man, with trouble imminent.