"His jealousy is another asset. Hilton wanted her an' couldn't get her, an' he knows the reason now: It's Beck. You think he's been practicin' with a rifle and pistol for the fun of it? Not on your life!" Leaning closer: "The time may come, Webb, when Hilton'll clear Beck out of our way.... That'd be easier. I don't want to try it in the open; I don't guess you do. He's got a crimp in all the boys. Look at Sam, for instance. He's itchin' to kill Beck but he ain't got the sand!" "If she ever found out he wasn't on the level with her,"--Webb's mind going back to Bobby Cole--"she'd claw him up fearful." "Yup. But she's in love an' love plays hell with men and women, Webb." The other started to reply, then sat rigid, listening. A horse came up the road at a slow trot and halted by the gate. A saddle creaked, then the bars complained as they were lowered. A man was whistling lightly as he rode toward the house and dismounted, leaving his horse standing. "Must be one of the boys," he said, and settled back. None who had other than friendly business there would come uncautious. "I was going to say," went on Hepburn, "that they'll be fooled about that Hole range. It's time for the cattle to start comin' in from the desert. They'll get up there and the creek'll be an ash bed with a couple more days of this sun. They can't take 'em back through the Gap without a big loss and if they leave 'em in the Hole without water long enough they can't get 'em up the trail without loss so--" "If you'll all rise up and put up your hands we won't have any trouble ... tonight!" Hepburn looked slowly over his shoulder, slightly bewildered. Webb, who had been stooped forward, raised his eyes and breath slipped through his lips in a long hiss. Sam McKee, who had reached out to take a trick, let his ace drop from limp fingers. The other three started up like guilty men sharply accused of their crime. Tom Beck, a revolver in each hand, stood framed in the doorway, bending forward from the hips, hat back, eyes burning. His voice had been level and natural, with something akin to a laugh in it, but when he spoke again it was a rasp: "Get up on your rattles, you snakes, and put up your hands!" With an oath Hepburn sprang to his feet, faced about and raised his arms. Webb followed, with jerky movements, his face pallid with fear. The four card players got from their chairs. As McKee's hands went slowly above his head they trembled like aspen branches in a breeze. For a long moment there was no sound, save Hepburn's heavy breathing. Then Tom Beck let a curious smile run across his lips. "This is a hell of a way to come to talk business," he commented. "I don't like it ... but little more than you seem to. It's the safest way for me. That's why I'm here, to consider my safety."