"Th' settlers," said Conford. "All right. Until they are here we'll guard the mouth of this canyon that leads into the Rockface, as I understand it. Now take me to this man Banner." At a low, rambling house in the outskirts of Corvan they found Jim Banner, sitting on the edge of his bed, undeniably sick from some acute attack. His eyes were steady, however, and he listened in silence while Kenset talked. "Mary," he said, "bring me my boots an' guns. I been layin' for this day ever sence I been in office. I wisht Jim Last was here to witness it." In two hours Kenset was on his way to the blind mouth of the pass that led into the Canon Country, Tharon was shooting back to the Holding on El Rey to put things on a watching basis there, while Conford and Billy went south and west to rouse the Vigilantes. With Kenset rode Banner, weak and not quite steady in his saddle, but a fighting man notwithstanding. All through the golden hours of that noonday while he jogged steadily on Captain, Kenset was thinking. He had food for thought, indeed. He carried a gun at last--he who had ridden the Valley unarmed, had meant never to carry one. He felt a stir within him of savagery, of excitement. He meant to have justice done, to put a hard hand on the law of Lost Valley. Murders uninvestigated, cattle stolen at will, settlers' homes burned over their heads, their hearths blown up by planted powder when they returned from any small trip, their horses run off--these things had seemed to him preposterous, mere shadows of facts. Now they were down to straight points before him, tangible, solid. He got them from the blue eyes of Tharon Last, the gun woman, and he had taken sides! He who had meant to keep so far out of the boiling turmoil. He camped that night at the base of the Wall where the blind door entered, made his bed just inside the dead black passage, and watched while Banner, weary and still weak, slept in his blankets beside him. This was new work for Kenset, strange work, this waiting for men who called themselves the Vigilantes--for a slim golden girl who rode and swore and pledged herself to blood! More than once in the quiet night that followed, Kenset wiped a hand across his brow and found it moist with sweat. What did he mean? Again and again he asked himself that question. What did he mean by Tharon Last? What was this cold fire that burned him when he thought of her pulling those sinister blue guns on Courtrey? Did he fear to see her kill Courtrey--to see that shadowy stain on her hands--or did he fear something worse, infinitely worse--to see Courtrey, famous gun man, beat her to it! He shuddered and sweat in the clear cold of the starlit night and searched his bewildered heart. He could find no answer save and except the weary one that Tharon Last must be holden from her sworn course.