In spite of the fact that the woman had charged Gary Warden with evolving the plot, Lawler felt nothing but contempt for the man. Warden's schemes, so far, had resulted only in discomfiture for Warden himself. And because Lawler was not vindictive, he entertained no thoughts of reprisal. However, Lawler was now well equipped with evidence of Warden's misdeeds. Months before, he had sent to Metcalf, the editor of the _News_, in the capital, the story of the drive to Red Rock, embellished with an account of his adventure with Antrim's gang, his capture of Antrim and the subsequent bringing of the outlaw to Willets, where he had delivered him to Warden. Metcalf had written him that the publication of the article had created a sensation in the state, and it appeared from the prominent position in which Metcalf had placed the story--on the front page, with a picture of Lawler dominating; and big, black headlines announcing: "PROMINENT CATTLEMAN WORSTS TRAIL HORDE!"--that Metcalf had kept his promise to the effect that he intended to "feature" his fight against the power that was attempting to control the cattle industry. So far, though, Lawler had no evidence that the governor's power had been used against them. He was convinced that Warden, Jordan, Simmons, and the others were employing their talents against him with the secret approval of the governor; but until he secured absolute, damning evidence he dared not openly charge it. Lawler had been waiting patiently for such evidence. He had felt all along that sooner or later his enemies would over-reach themselves, leaving some weak spot through which he could attack, and he had been content to wait until that time, merely defending himself and his interests, planning no aggressive campaign. The effect of the assaults of his enemies thus far had disturbed him little. He had been able to anticipate most of their attacks and they had resulted in little harm to himself. They had left him unperturbed, unharmed--like the attacks of an excitable poodle upon a giant, contemptuous mastiff. Deep in his heart, though, lurked a spark of passion that, day by day, had been slowly growing, warming him, making his veins swell a little when his thoughts dwelt upon Warden and the others; bringing into his heart a savage longing that he often had yielded to in the old days--before he had learned to control his passions. There were times when he was almost persuaded to break the laws for which he had fought in the old days--moments when it seemed to him that further toleration of the attacks of his enemies would be a sign of weakness. But he had conquered those surges of passion, though the victory always left him with a smile on his face that would have awed Warden, had he seen it.