“Longstreth, that may well be true,” he said. “No doubt all you say is true. But it doesn't help me. I want the girl. If I don't get her--I reckon we'll all go to hell!” He might have meant anything, probably meant the worst. He certainly had something more in mind. Longstreth gave a slight start, barely perceptible, like the switch of an awakening tiger. He sat there, head down, stroking his mustache. Almost Duane saw his thought. He had long experience in reading men under stress of such emotion. He had no means to vindicate his judgment, but his conviction was that Longstreth right then and there decided that the thing to do was to kill Lawson. For Duane's part he wondered that Longstreth had not come to such a conclusion before. Not improbably the advent of his daughter had put Longstreth in conflict with himself. Suddenly he threw off a somber cast of countenance, and he began to talk. He talked swiftly, persuasively, yet Duane imagined he was talking to smooth Lawson's passion for the moment. Lawson no more caught the fateful significance of a line crossed, a limit reached, a decree decided than if he had not been present. He was obsessed with himself. How, Duane wondered, had a man of his mind ever lived so long and gone so far among the exacting conditions of the Southwest? The answer was, perhaps, that Longstreth had guided him, upheld him, protected him. The coming of Ray Longstreth had been the entering-wedge of dissension. “You're too impatient,” concluded Longstreth. “You'll ruin any chance of happiness if you rush Ray. She might be won. If you told her who I am she'd hate you for ever. She might marry you to save me, but she'd hate you. That isn't the way. Wait. Play for time. Be different with her. Cut out your drinking. She despises that. Let's plan to sell out here--stock, ranch, property--and leave the country. Then you'd have a show with her.” “I told you we've got to stick,” growled Lawson. “The gang won't stand for our going. It can't be done unless you want to sacrifice everything.” “You mean double-cross the men? Go without their knowing? Leave them here to face whatever comes?” “I mean just that.” “I'm bad enough, but not that bad,” returned Longstreth. “If I can't get the gang to let me off, I'll stay and face the music. All the same, Lawson, did it ever strike you that most of the deals the last few years have been YOURS?” “Yes. If I hadn't rung them in there wouldn't have been any. You've had cold feet, and especially since this ranger has been here.” “Well, call it cold feet if you like. But I call it sense. We reached our limit long ago. We began by rustling a few cattle--at a time when rustling was laughed at. But as our greed grew so did our boldness. Then came the gang, the regular trips, the one thing and another till, before we knew it--before I knew it--we had shady deals, holdups, and MURDERS on our record. Then we HAD to go on. Too late to turn back!”