"Yes? An' how do you think you'll get that? If I nod my head we'll drive this bunch o' spawn out o' here so quick it'll make your head swim! What do you think you're doin'?" "I don't _think_. I _know_ now. Know what we can do--what th' law means." Courtrey glanced again at Kenset. "Got some imported knowledge, I take it." "Take it or leave it! Show us them guns!" cried Tharon harshly. "I--don't--think--so," said Courtrey, nodding. Like a pair of snakes gliding forward, Wylackie Bob and the Arizona stranger were suddenly in the foreground, hands hanging apparently loose and careless, in reality tense as strung wires, ready to snap with fire and lead. The moment was pregnant. The very air seemed charged with danger and death. Then, with a strange cry, Tharon Last swung sidewise from her saddle, for all the world as if she were breaking under the strain, leaned far over El Rey's shoulder, and the next moment there came a shot, snapping in the stillness. With an oath and a lurch Courtrey flung backward, tossed up his right arm, and fired with his left. His ball went high in the air, wild. The blood from that tossed right hand spurted over Wylackie Bob beside him, the gun it had held went hurtling away along the earth. There was a movement, a surge, the flash of guns and one of the settlers tumbled from his saddle, poor Thomas of the doubting heart. Courtrey's men flashed together as one, thundered backward to the wide doorstep, pressed together, waited. The voice of Kenset rang like a clarion. "Stop!" he cried, "don't shoot!" And he swung off his horse to leap for that gun. But another was before him. With a scream of anguish that rang heaven-high, Ellen shot forward and snatched it from the spot where it had fallen. Tall, white as a ghost in the rose-pink light that was tinged with purple, she stood, swaying on her feet, and faced them. And she put the gun to her temple! "I ain't got nothin' t' live for," she said clearly and pitifully, "but Courtrey's life is worth what I got to me. If you don't clear out I'll pull th' trigger." She was tragic as death itself. The big blue wells of her eyes were black with the spreading pupils. Dark circles lay beneath them. Her blue-veined hands were so thin the light seemed to shine through them. Her long white dress clung to her slim form. From far back by the corral fence Cleve Whitmore watched her silently, his hands clenched hard. Tharon Last looked at her with wide eyes. She had forgotten all about this woman in the passionate hatred of Courtrey and the desire to pin his crimes upon him. Now she wet her lips and looked at Ellen long and silently. The pale lips were quivering, the long arm shook as it held the gun. "God!" whispered the girl, watching, "she loves him! Like I loved Jim Last! Th' pain's in her heart, an' no mistake!" Then, as if something strong within her folded its iron arm upon itself, she began to back El Rey. "Back out!" she called, "we ain't no woman-killers!"