They stood along the wall, unkempt and untidy, but there was something about them that was as cold and deadly as the whine of a bullet or the fangs of a viper. They were lean as weasels, and as fast. The rifles they held, from the repeating carbines belonging to Barr, Yancey, Dabb and Grant, to Pete's single-shot fifty caliber, seemed a part of them and they had grown up with those rifles. These were men who had no shots to waste and who therefore must make every one count. They would be shamed if they shot a turkey or grouse anywhere except through the head and they had only raucous jeers for whoever was unable to shoot as well. "Turn 'raound!" Pete ordered gruffly. "Not here ya fool!" Barr countermanded the order. "A fair half of Smithville'll come a'racin'." Pete sneered. "Let 'em come. They won't find us." "No!" Obviously Barr was in command. "This goes my way." Jeff stood, cold and shaken and knowing that, when he walked into the cabin, he had walked into his own death. These must be the men about whom Bill Ellis had warned him. But why should the Whitneys want to kill him? Summoning all his past experience with Tarrant Enterprises, Ltd., which had taught him to try to appear outwardly cool in the hottest of spots, Jeff did his best to seem not only calm but to take full command of the situation. "You're in my cabin," he said quietly. "We knaow," Pete's eyes were venom-laden, "but you won't be needin' it fer long." The rest of the Whitneys said nothing. Jeff studied them and tried, by reading their faces, to determine his next act. Pete, so poisoned with hatred that it distorted his face, offered nothing. Yancey, Dabb and Grant might be swayed if it were not for Barr. Dominating the rest, and with them, at the same time he stood apart from them. He was strong, Pete was weak--and for that very reason extremely dangerous. The rest needed leadership. But while there was no lust in Barr's eyes, neither was there any mercy. Jeff looked steadily at him and kept his voice quiet. "What's it about?" "We liked ya, peddler." Barr's voice was very grave. "We liked ya an' you traded fair with your goods. But there's no bit of room in these hills for a policeman." "Policeman!" Jeff exploded. "We know," Barr seemed downcast, as though someone he trusted had betrayed him. "The boy told us." "Told you what?" "All--an' 'twill serve ya naught to plead or ask pardon. If you're a man, be one now." Jeff's head whirled. Apparently, while he was in Ackerton, one or more of the Whitneys had met Dan and the boy had spun some fantastic tale. Jeff looked over his captors again and saw only unyielding determination. He took a deep breath before he spoke. "What did Dan tell you?" "Enough," Barr grunted. "We had the truth from a babe's mouth." "But--" Dabb interrupted. "What made ye set your mind on the thought that a Whitney kil't Blazer?" "Didn't you?" "We do not pry into killin's," Barr said. "You erred when you did."