He strode back to the door and stood there, the rifle again across the hook of his arm. His flaming eyes swept the faces in the dingle. Their eyes gave him a message that his woodsman's soul interpreted. "There's the truth for you, men, since you had to have it!" he shouted. "Once more I'm going to say to John Barrett--'Step out.' And if there's still a man among you that wants to keep that hound in this camp I'd like to have that man stand out and say why." There was not a whisper from the throng. They stood gazing into the door with lips apart. Silently they crowded back, as though to afford free passage. Barrett noted the movement and wailed his terror. "It means trouble for you, Withee, if you let him take me." The old operator surveyed him with a lowering and disgusted stare. "Mr. Barrett," he said, "I've told you that I have nothing to sell. All that I want to buy of you is stumpage, and I've got your figures on that and your opinion of me. I don't ask you to change anything." He turned away, muttering, "He'll have to think pretty hard if he can do anything more to me than what he's already threatened to do." Calm once more, and inexorable as fate, Lane motioned towards the door. "My final word, Barrett: March!" As he gazed into the faces about him, not one gleam of friendliness anywhere, desperation or a flicker of courage spurred the magnate. In that moment John Barrett had none of the adventitious aids of his autocracy--none of the bulwarks of "Castle Cut 'Em." He was only a man among them--fairly demanded by another man to settle a matter of the sort where primordial instinct prompts a universal code. He drove his hat on his head and strode through the door, his head bent. Lane took his lighted lantern from the cook's hand and followed. He had his teeth set tight, as though resolved to say no more. But at the edge of the camp's lamplight he whirled and faced the crew. Barrett halted, too, as though hoping for some intervention. "Look here, men," said Lane, "I want to thank you for being men in this thing. And seeing that you've been square with me I don't want to go away from here leaving any wrong idea behind me. I don't know just what's going to happen between this man and me, for a good deal depends on him. But you've known me long enough to know that I'm not the crust-hunting kind that cuts a deer's throat when he's helpless. You put your confidence in me when you put this man in my hands. And I'll say to you, I'll do the best I know!" "We ain't givin' any advice to you that knows your business better'n we do," called out the boss of the choppers. "But let it be man to man--good woods style!" "Good woods style!" echoed the crew, in hoarse chorus. It was plain that their minds were dwelling on only one solution of the difficulty. Lane stepped back and set the rifle against the log wall. "I was near forgetting," he said, apologetically. "I'm so used to carrying a rifle. This belongs here."