He looked at Corrigan while Braman examined the paper, his eyes alight with the mocking, unfearing gleam that had been in them during the fight. Corrigan scowled and Trevison grinned at him--the indomitable, mirthless grin of the reckless fighting man; and Corrigan filled his lungs slowly, watching him with half-closed eyes. It was as though both knew that a distant day would bring another clash between them. Braman fingered the paper uncertainly, and looked at Corrigan. "I suppose this is all regular?" he said. "You ought to know something about it--it's a check from the railroad company for the right-of-way through Mr. Trevison's land." Corrigan's eyes brightened as he examined the check. They filled with a hard, sinister light. "No," he said; "it isn't regular." He took the check from Braman and deliberately tore it into small pieces, scattering them on the floor at his feet. He smiled vindictively, settling back into his chair. "'Brand' Trevison, eh?" he said. "Well, Mr. Trevison, the railroad company isn't ready to close with you." Trevison had watched the destruction of the check without the quiver of an eyelash. A faint, ironic smile curved the corners of his mouth as Corrigan concluded. "I see," he said quietly. "You were not man enough to beat me a little while ago--even with the help of Braman's broom. You're going to take it out on me through the railroad; you're going to sneak and scheme. Well, you're in good company--anything that you don't know about skinning people Braman will tell you. But I'm letting you know this: The railroad company's option on my land expired last night, and it won't be renewed. If it's fight you're looking for, I'll do my best to accommodate you." Corrigan grunted, and idly drummed with the fingers of one hand on the top of the desk, watching Trevison steadily. The latter opened his lips to speak, changed his mind, grinned and went out. Corrigan and Braman watched him as he stopped for a moment outside to talk with his friends, and their gaze followed him until he mounted Nigger and rode out of town. Then the banker looked at Corrigan, his brows wrinkling. "You know your business, Jeff," he said; "but you've picked a tough man in Trevison." Corrigan did not answer. He was glowering at the pieces of the check that lay on the floor at his feet. CHAPTER IV THE LONG ARM OF POWER Presently Corrigan lit a cigar, biting the end off carefully, to keep it from coming in contact with his bruised lips. When the cigar was going well, he looked at Braman. "What is Trevison?" Pale, still dizzy from the effects of the blow on the head, Braman, who was leaning heavily on the counter, smiled wryly: "He's a holy terror--you ought to know that. He's a reckless, don't-give-a-damn fool who has forgotten there's such a thing as consequences. 'Firebrand' Trevison, they call him. And he lives up to what that means. The folks in this section of the country swear by him."