He saw the face of every man in the group--while seeming not to be looking at any of them. He noted the various shades of expression that came into their faces as they digested his words, he saw how some of them watched him with sober interest and how others permitted themselves a sneer of incredulity or dislike. He noted that a tall, slender, swarthy man on the extreme left of the group watched him with a malevolent gaze, his eyes flaming hate; he saw a black-haired, hook-nosed fellow near the center of the group watching him with a grin of cold contempt. It seemed to Harlan that a fair proportion of the men were willing to acknowledge his authority--for they were frankly studying him, ready to greet him as their employer. Many others, however, were as frankly hostile. After Harlan ceased speaking there came a short silence, during which many of the men looked at one another inquiringly. It was a moment during which, had a leader appeared to take the initiative for those who intended to dissent from Harlan's rule, the outfit might have been divided. Evidently the tall, swarthy man divined that the time to dissent had come, for he cleared his throat, and grinned felinely. Before he could speak, however, a short man with keen eyes that, since the instant they had rested upon Harlan, had been glowing with something that might have been defined as mingled astonishment and delight thinly concealed by a veneer of humor--said distinctly: "You crossed over from Pardo--you say?" Harlan nodded, and a pin-point of recognition glowed in his eyes as he looked at the man. The other laughed, lowly. "Seems I know you," he said. "You're 'Drag' Harlan!" A tremor ran through the group. There was a concerted stiffening of bodies, a general sigh from lungs in process of deflation. And then the group stood silent, every man watching Harlan with that intent curiosity that comes with one's first glimpse of a noted character, introduced without expectation. Harlan noted that a change had come over the men. Those whose faces had betrayed their inclination to accept his authority had taken--without exception--a glum, disappointed expression. On the other hand, those who had formerly betrayed hostility, were now grinning with satisfaction. A tremor of malicious amusement, expressed visibly by a flicker of his eyelids, was Harlan's only emotion over the change that had come in the men of the group. He could now have selected those of the men who--as Lane Morgan had said--could not be trusted, and he could have pointed out those who had been loyal to Morgan, and who would be loyal to Barbara and himself. Among the former were the tall, swarthy man on the extreme left, and the hook-nosed fellow near the center. There were perhaps ten of the latter, and it was plain to Harlan that the short man who had spoken was their leader. "'Drag' Harlan--eh?"