And now, convinced that the men had cornered an animal of some kind, and that they feared it too greatly to face it openly, the rider laughed loudly and called to the men, his voice freighted with sarcasm. "Scared?" he said. "Oh, don't be. If you'll back off a little an' give him room, he'll just naturally slope, an' give you a chance to get to your cayuses." Both men wheeled almost at the same instant. The man at the base of the rock snarled--after the first gasp of astonishment, baring his teeth in hideous mirth and embarrassment; the other man, startled and caught off balance at the sound of the rider's voice, slipped, tried to catch himself, failed, and tumbled awkwardly down, scrambling and cursing, to the sand within a few feet of the rider. Sitting in the sand at the base of the rock, the man who had fallen also snarled as he sat, looking at the rider. Neither of the two men moved after the involuntary muscular action that had resulted from their astonishment. The man at the base of the rock stood in the position in which he had found himself when he had wheeled. The pistol in his right hand was held close to his side, the muzzle directed at the rider. But a change was coming over the man's face. The color was slowly going out of it, the lips were loosening as his jaws dropped, his body began to sag, and his eyes began to widen with fear, stark and naked. At length, the rider now watching him with a gaze in which there began to glow recognition and contempt, the man dropped his hands to his sides and leaned against the rock. "'Drag' Harlan!" he muttered hoarsely. The rider watched, his eyes glittering coldly, his lips twisting in a crooked sneer. Amusement was his dominating emotion, but there was hate in his gaze, mingling with a malignant joy and triumph. The pistols in his hands became steady as his wrist muscles stiffened; and he watched the two men warily, apparently looking straight at the standing man, but seeing the sitting man also. And now a silence fell--a strained, premonitory silence that had in it a hint of imminent tragedy. The sitting man stiffened, divining the promise of violence; the standing man shrank back a little and looked downward at the pistol in his right hand. The rider saw the glance and laughed lowly. "Keep her right where she is, Dolver," he warned. "You lift her one little wee lift, an' I bore you plumb in the brain-box. Sort of flabbergasted, eh? Didn't expect to run into me again so soon?" He laughed as the other cringed, his face dead white, his eyes fixed on the rider with a sort of dread fascination. "Dolver, didn't you know when you got my little partner, Davey Langan, that I'd be comin' for you?" said the rider in a slow, drawling whisper. "In the back you got him, not givin' him a chance. You're gettin' yours now. I'm givin' you a chance to take it like a man--standin', with your face to me. Lift her now--damn you!"