Sharps stood in the open, his huge fists still clenched, his eyes turning red with savage rage; then he, too, wheeled and reached for his guns. There was a silence, and the gunmen that Isham had hired crouched low and waited for the break; but before a hand had moved a man stepped swiftly forward and took his place beside the Bassetts. It was Hall McIvor and as the Texans paused to glance at him the tenseness of the moment was broken. A new emotion stepped in, to break the psychic wave that was sweeping them on towards a killing. "What are you doing--over there?" demanded Isham roughly, and Hall fixed him with his piercing black eyes. "I'm here to fight," he answered quietly. "This is no quarrel of mine, but when fifteen men pitch on three I'm going to help them, right or wrong." "You half-Injun rascal!" burst out Isham accusingly, "I said all the time you was here to join the Bassetts--and now, by Godfrey, look at him!" He turned to Meshackatee, who was looking on in wonder, and pointed a scornful hand at their ex-prisoner; but McIvor's blood was up and, as Isham continued to point, he leapt over and slapped him in the face. "Take that!" he said, "and if you pretend to be a gentleman draw your gun and we'll shoot this out!" He stood expectant, his slim hand poised and waiting above the butt of a well-worn pistol, but Scarborough did not go for his gun. He hesitated and as McIvor saw the fear in his eyes he stepped back with a thin-lipped smile. "In my country," he said, "we settle our differences of opinion by stepping off ten paces, then turn and shoot. I say you are a coward, a blustering fool and no gentleman--do you accept my challenge, or not?" "Aw, you're crazy," muttered Isham, backing off into the crowd, and McIvor let it pass. But when the Scarboroughs were gone he glanced swiftly at Winchester Bassett, who responded with his unruffled smile. CHAPTER VIII THE GOOD OLD SIMPLE PLAN Nothing had been further from the intentions of Hall McIvor as he rode forth from the Rock House that morning than that he should join the Bassetts as a friend. He had been sent to join them, yes; but treacherously, as a spy, who was to return and report to Meshackatee. But his heart had ruled his head--he had joined against the Scarboroughs and then slapped Isham in the face--and now that it was over he found himself a turncoat, shaking hands with Winchester Bassett. Yet something still told him that his heart had been right, and that open friendship was better than treachery; and that somehow, somewhere, he would see Allifair again, though never under the protection of the Scarboroughs.