Seated at a card-table across the room, idly shuffling a deck of cards, sat Harley P. Hennage, and he was staring at Borax O'Rourke. At the latter's sudden pause, a silence fell upon the Silver Dollar, and every man lined up at the long bar turned and followed O'Rourke's glance. For fully a minute Mr. Hennage's small baleful eyes flicked murder lights as their glance burned into O'Rourke's wolfish soul. Then, quite calmly, he commenced placing his cards for a game of solitaire, and when he had carefully disposed of them he spoke: “O'Rourke!” The word was deep, throaty, almost a growl. Simultaneously the men nearest O'Rourke drifted quickly away from him. “Well?” “I don't like your game. Stop it. Hand me an assignment o' that desert entry o' yours by three o'clock, an' get out o' town by four o'clock. Hear me?” “An' if I don't?” demanded O'Rourke. “If you don't,” repeated Mr. Hennage calmly, “I shall cancel the entry at one minute after four o'clock.” “You can't bluff me.” “I'm not bluffin' this time, you dog. Do I get that assignment of entry?” Borax O'Rourke knew that his life might be the price of a refusal, but in the presence of that crowd where men were measured by their courage the remnants of his manhood forbade him to answer “yes.” He was not a coward. “I'll be in the middle o' the street at four o'clock” he answered. “Got a gun?” “No.” The gambler threw him over a twenty-dollar piece. “Go get one.” Borax O'Rourke picked the coin off the floor and shuffled out of the Silver Dollar saloon. Until one minute past four o'clock, then, the incident was closed, and Mr. Hennage returned to his interrupted game of solitaire. CHAPTER XIX Why Harley P. Hennage should elect to return to San Pasqual on the very day that Borax O'Rourke issued formal written notice through old Judge Kenny for Donna to vacate the Hat Ranch, which stood upon the desert land whereon he had filed, is one of the mysteries of retributive justice with which this story has nothing to do. Suffice the fact that Mr. Hennage had stayed away from San Pasqual six months, and six months is a sufficient lapse of time for any ordinary public excitement to wear off, particularly in the desert. He had not intended returning so soon, but a letter from Dan Pennycook, to whom Mr. Hennage had communicated his whereabouts, charging the yardmaster to keep him in touch with affairs at the Hat Ranch, had precipitated his descent upon San Pasqual. He had dropped off the Limited at daylight that very morning, and by nine o'clock was in possession of all the facts regarding the mistress of the Hat Ranch. “It's a nasty mix-up, Harley” Dan Pennycook informed him, when Mr. Hennage sought the yardmaster out in his desire for explicit information touching the hint of trouble to Donna conveyed in the letter which Pennycook had sent him. “Her husband ain't never showed up, an' there ain't no record of her marriage license in the county clerk's office.”