He leaped upon his horse, and the entire company plunged into the soft moonlight that flooded the plains between the cabin and Willets. * * * * * The ivory-handled pistols were still on Lawler's desk when his secretary softly opened a door and entered. The secretary smiled slightly at sight of the weapons, but he said no word as he advanced to the desk and placed a telegram before Lawler. He stood, waiting respectfully, as Lawler read the telegram. It was from Moreton: "Governor Lawler: There's something mighty wrong going on in Willets. Slade and his gang struck town this morning. He was with Warden all day in the Wolf. Don't depend on the new sheriff." Lawler got up, his face paling. He dismissed the secretary and then stood for several minutes looking down at the pistols on the desk. They offered a quick solution of the problem that confronted him. At this minute he was conscious of one thing only--that Slade was in Willets. Slade, who had led the gang that had killed his men--Slade, whose face haunted Blackburn's dreams--the man the Circle L outfit held responsible for the massacre that day on the plains above the big valley. Lurking in the metal cylinders of the two weapons on the desk was that death which Warden, Singleton, Slade, and the others deserved at his hands. He took up the pistols, nestling their sinister shapes in his palms, while his blood rioted with the terrible lust that now seized him--the old urge to do violence, the primal instinct to slay, to which he had yielded when Shorty told him of the things Blondy Antrim had done. Another minute passed while he fondled the weapons. Twice he moved as though to buckle the cartridge belt around his waist--shoving aside the black coat he wore, which would have hidden them. But each time he changed his mind. He knew that if he wore them he would use them. The driving intensity of his desire to kill Warden, Singleton, and Slade would overwhelm him if he should find they had harmed Ruth. The deadly passion that held him in a mighty clutch would take no account of his position, of his duty to the state, or of the oath he had taken to obey and administer the laws. While he silently fought the lust that filled his heart the secretary came in. He started and then stood rigid, watching Lawler, seeming to divine something of the struggle that was going on before his eyes. He saw how Lawler's muscles had tensed, how his chin had gone forward with a vicious thrust--noted the awful indecision that had seized the man. As the secretary watched, he realized that Lawler was on the verge of surrendering to the passions he was fighting--for Lawler had again taken up the cartridge belt and was opening his coat to buckle the belt around him. "_Governor._"