"I've put my brand on more'n one treacherous dog!" he jeered. "You'll find my stock running across the wild places in seven States! Here's where I plant the sign of the cross on you, Mexico! Right square between the eyes!" Suddenly he thrust the burning brand toward Joe's forehead. Joe cried out in terror: "For the love of God!..." His two hands were behind him, but, galvanized, he fought the pine fagot with his whole body. He strove to thrust it aside; he fought against his weakness to roll over; Taggart's heavy foot was in his middle, holding him down; the burning branch in Taggart's heavy hands was as steady as a steel rod set in concrete; Joe's threshing panic disturbed it scarcely more than the wind would have done.... Another scream, shrilling through the night; the smell of burnt flesh; a red wound on Joe's forehead; Taggart's ugly laugh; and then suddenly, from just without the open doorway, a terrible shout from Bruce Standing, and then, in two seconds, Bruce Standing's great bulk among them. "My God!" roared Standing. "_My God!_ ... You, Jim Taggart!..." Shipton's rifle stood in a corner; Shipton, as lithe as a cat, leaped for it. Gallup's was in his hand; he whipped it to his shoulder. Taggart for one instant was stupefied; then he swept high above his head the smoke-emitting, redly glowing pine limb. Joe, weeping hysterically, writhing on the floor, was gasping: "_Jesus Maria!_" ... God had heard his prayers; God and Bruce Standing. But in to-night's game of hazard it was Timber-Wolf who chose to shuffle, cut, and deal the cards; his rifle was in his hands; it required but the gentlest touch of his finger to send any man of them to his last repose. His eyes, the roving eyes of rage, were everywhere at once. "I'd kill you, Taggart, and be glad of the chanth! You, too, Gallup! Drop that gun!" First of them all, it was Cliff Shipton who came to the motionless halt of shocked consternation; he lifted his hands, his face blanched; he tried to speak, and only succeeded in making the noise of air gushing through dry lips. Gallup stopped midway in his purpose of firing, for Timber Wolf's rifle barrel was trained square upon his chest; at the look in Standing's eye and the timbre of his voice, Gallup's gun fell clattering to the floor. Taggart mouthed and cursed, and slowly let his blazing fagot sink toward the floor. For every man of them knew Timber-Wolf well; and they knew that incongruous _lisping_ which surprised him and mastered his utterance only when his rage was of the greatest. When Timber-Wolf lisped it was because such a fiery storm raged through his breast as to make of him a man who would kill and kill and kill and glory in the killing. "And I'd have given a million dollars to thee any man of you put up a fight!" he was saying harshly. "God, what a thet of cowardly curth! And you, Jim Taggart, I onth had for bunk-mate and onth thought a man!"